Touch me, Hold me, Love me
by MissWonkaHat
Summary: Charlie is twelve years old, the age many boys have their first crushes, and he is no exception. However, he's fallen for someone quite different- Mr Willy Wonka. But will the chocolatier return his feelings? And how long is it before someone finds out?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N- Hello everyone. This is Nina. This is a rehost of one of my fics that's been up in this section for a good number of years. For various reasons I needed to take it off my main account, but I know a lot of people enjoy it, so I didn't just want to remove it from FF altogether. Please note that it's not finished and that unless I have a change of heart it is, for the moment, discontinued.**

**WARNING: this is a chanslash story featuring a romance between Willy Wonka and Charlie. If that's not your cup of tea please press that little back button at the top of your screen. **

**That said, please enjoy. **

_Touch me, Hold me, Love Me_

_Chapter I- An Awful Realisation_

It was a rather ordinary day in the chocolate factory. Well, as ordinary as Willy Wonka's chocolate factory could be, for most wouldn't find it ordinary at all! With its chocolate rivers and waterfalls and even a whole tribe of singing dancing tiny men, otherwise known as the Oompa-Loompas, nothing could be considered _normal_ in the factory.

Charlie- Mr Wonka's heir- thought living there was magical; he wouldn't be surprised if he found that Mr Wonka had a bit of magic in him too.

Charlie was now twelve, he'd lived in the factory for over two years, but he still thought it was wonderful; there was just so much to explore! No matter how many times he looked, there were still so many rooms and places in the factory he'd never seen before. He had to admit however… he had gotten himself lost quite a few times. For instance once he had found a room completely full of different coloured candy floss, and whatever door he tried, it just lead back to the candy floss room, it was incredibly confusing for poor Charlie. He didn't mind too much though, the candy floss was very scrummy, though it did start to get a tad boring after he'd been there _all_ day.

But Wonka had found him, and told him just how easy it was to get out. You only needed to turn left for three rooms, go forward for six, go right for two and then repeat the whole thing again five times.

"Of course," Wonka had said, "only a super-duper chocolatier like me would know that."

A lot of people thought Wonka was a bit strange, perhaps even a bit mad, but to Charlie he was wonderful. His strange sense of humour might shock other people, but Charlie always thought he was very funny. He could become slightly egotistical and sarcastic at times but he had lived in his factory for such a very long time with out any human interaction it was no wonder. Charlie didn't mind, he loved every bit of him, from his trademark top hat to his brightly coloured high-heeled shoes. He loved him even more than he knew.

x

Both Willy Wonka and Charlie were in the Inventing Room, though Charlie was pretty sure Wonka didn't notice him, he was sitting quite high up on a balcony overlooking the room. Normally, Charlie wouldn't have liked sitting up there, he didn't particularly like heights, but Wonka was testing out a new product today- Bubbletastic Balls. You were supposed to swallow them, and after a few seconds you would start exhaling bubbles for a short period of time. Charlie didn't want to miss this, but he didn't want to distract Wonka either, so he decided he would sit on the railing out of the way.

Wonka had ten Bubbletastic Balls in varying strength, and ten Oompa-Loompa's to test them on. The Oompa-Loompas didn't mind of course, they thought it a privilege to try out Mr Wonka's chocolates and sweets before anyone else. Even if one did turn orange or inflate occasionally.

As Charlie watched he noticed the expression on Wonka's face, he was smiling. Charlie was glad, Wonka often smiled, but usually it was fake, for some reason he didn't like to express his true emotions and covered them up by masking them with fake ones. But Charlie had slowly learnt to read his emotions, even with a big grin plastered on his face his eyes usually gave him away. Willy Wonka had very expressive eyes, it was like he was trying to cage his emotions but his eyes managed to slip though the bars. He could look completely calm and normal when he was sad, his face looked normal, his body language was normal, but his eyes would be almost pleading for sympathy and love. No one else in his family seemed to have this knack of Charlie's for reading Wonka's emotions however, and they tended to get duped by the chocolatier a lot.

But the smile on his face right now, Charlie knew it was a true smile. Willy Wonka loved making sweets and chocolates and today was the grand day when he showed everyone else in his factory all his hard work. Charlie smiled too, whenever Wonka was happy he felt happy as well, though he wasn't quite sure why; he wasn't like this with anyone else. Perhaps Wonka just had this amazing effect on people?

For no apparent reason at all, a new question floated into the young boy's mind- how come Mr Wonka wasn't married? Or at least had a girlfriend? You see women practically throwing themselves at rock stars and basically anyone from the telly all the time. So why not Mr Wonka? Everyone knows about him, he can't go out (not that he does usually) without being recognised. So, why don't girls hurl themselves at him? Why, if Charlie was a girl he knew he would.

'…What...?' Charlie suddenly realised what he had just thought. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the nonsense he had collected in it. Sure, he might do that if he were a girl, but what if he were a boy? …No, of course not, he didn't like Mr Wonka like… like that. He must be two… three times older than Charlie was, possibly more, he'd never asked him. And what's more, Mr Wonka was a _man. _

Charlie didn't like boys… did he? He'd never even thought such a thing beforehand, he hadn't even really started to think about girls yet, sure, there were some girls in his class but looked quite cute, but honestly… boys?

'No, of course not, this is complete bosh; I don't know what I'm talking about.' Charlie shook his head again and turned his attention back to the testing, only to find that not only had they started already, they had almost finished.

While Charlie had been staring at Wonka with an expression that could only be resembled by that of a love struck fool Oompa-Loompas had been letting out jets of bubbles, one of them exhaling bubbles from his nostrils, and another letting out so many it was impossible to see him anymore- there were a million tiny reflections of him on the bubbles, it looked as if the Oompa-Loompas were multiplying!

By the time Charlie had come back to Earth, he had missed almost all of the action, there was only one Bubbletastic Ball left, and it was the strongest one. Wonka handed the last tribesman the sweet and stood slightly back, holding up his notepad to record the reaction. He gave the Oompa-Loompa the thumbs up.

The small man popped the sweet in his mouth and swallowed. Almost immediately something began to happen. With all the others lots of smaller bubbles had been exhaled, but this sweet was much stronger, he began breathing out one huge bubble.

It got bigger…

And bigger…

The bubble became so enormous that it covered the Oompa-Loompa, that is to say- the Oompa-Loompa was now _inside_ the bubble. But more was to come; the bubble started lifting off the ground slowly, rising higher and higher. Calmly Wonka wrote down on his notepad 'TOO STRONG' and circled it several times.

Charlie was amazed Wonka was still so placid, he himself was more than a bit worried for the Oompa-Loompa, the bubble would float to the top of the ceiling and then… pop! The drop would surely kill him, why didn't Wonka do something?!

Charlie was just about to call out to Wonka when he realised he was doing something. He was bent down low and talking to another of the tiny men.

Wonka tapped the side of his face several times with his candy flavoured pencil calmly while trying to think of an idea. "Aha!" he exclaimed. "I've got it, Patrick, would ya head down to the gum room and fetch a piece of Super-Stretch-Scrum-Gum. Then bring it back here and stretch it out." The Oompa Loompa, Patrick, gave Wonka a quick salute and he scurried of to go find the gum. Wonka himself turned back to watch the rising Loompa's slow progress towards the ceiling with the same calm and slightly uninterested look on his face. But a small flicker of fear darted across his unmasked eyes for a second before the calm look reappeared. That was all Charlie needed to see, for a moment he thought that Mr Wonka didn't care. But he knew for a fact that couldn't be true, Wonka had told Charlie himself that he was quite fond of the Oompa-Loompas and he knew that when Willy Wonka says he's quite fond of someone, it means he really likes them a lot. He also knew all their names, despite the fact there were hundreds of them in the factory. He must have spent weeks and months trying to memorise them all, that's how dedicated he was to them.

Patrick had now returned, holding a small rectangular object in a silver wrapper. "Good, good," said Wonka. "Now you just need ta stretch it out."

Several other Loompas came to help Patrick; they took the wrapper off, revealing what appeared to be an ordinary piece of pink chewing gum. Now, if Charlie had not lived in Willy Wonka's chocolate factory for two years he might have thought this. However, judging by its name, he could already guess what it could do. The 'super-stretch' part kind of gave it away.

The little men each took a side of the gum and pulled hard. It began to stretch, stretching farther than any normal gum; it was like rubber, except better. Charlie was sure it would snap soon, but it kept stretching and stretching. He shook his head, he should never have doubted the genius that was Willy Wonka, for the chewing gum no longer resembled gum at all, it was more like a giant trampoline! Charlie gave a quiet "Ah…" as he realised what Wonka was planning to do. 'They better hurry though,' he thought, 'that bubble will reach the roof soon!'

The Loompas held the gum underneath the bubble without any instruction, moving over to stand underneath their distressed comrade. The bubble rose higher with the rather distraught man inside. It was only a few seconds away from the roof…

Charlie covered his eyes as the bubble popped soundlessly and the terrified Oompa-Loompa plummeted to the ground.

Sliding his hands away and opening his eyes; he gave a sigh of relief and then- laughed. The bubbled man was sitting in the chewing gum trampoline covering in pink gum; it had sprayed all over the room. The other Oompa-Loompas were also covered in it, they laughed at one another, pointing at each other's pink hair. Wonka, looking rather stunned, took of his top hat and pulled the gum of it, before putting it back on his head with a rather strange expression. The rest of him was still rather pink though.

The Oompa-Loompa who was on the gum trampoline stuck his little finger in the gum, pulled it out and put it in his mouth. He grinned and gave Mr Wonka the thumbs up.

"Well," Wonka began, "it didn't sell well, but that gum really does have its uses!" He gave a short giggle. "Right guys; let's get all this cleaned up." As he said this, he pulled a strip of gum off his own coat with a funny look on his face. The Oompa-Loompa's wandered off, either to get cleaning equipment for the mess in the room or to attend to other things.

Wonka scribbled some more things down on his notepad before closing it and placing it in his pocket.

"By the way," he said loudly, "I do realise yer up there Charlie." He turned around and grinned at the boy, but it immediately dropped off his face. For Charlie had been watching the fun and had gotten so used to nobody noticing him on the balcony that when Mr Wonka had spoken to him it had been quite a surprise, he had been startled. Now he was wobbling dangerously on the railing.

"Charlie!" Cried Wonka, the fear now clearly showing on his face. He wasn't as high as the Oompa-Loompa had been, but if he fell the wrong way, the drop could still kill him, and what worried Mr Wonka most- was that there was no more time to get gum.

Charlie tried to get a grip on the railing but it was no good, it was as if in the last few minutes the railing had been greased by invisible demons. Charlie slid and slipped and tried to get a grip on the metal pole he was sat on but he never had been a strong boy, he always came last in races and got out of breath easy, he couldn't hold on for much longer.

He fell.

"Ai-iiiieeeee!" Charlie braced himself for the impact, this would _definitely_ hurt. Charlie felt the rush of air around him, he saw the inventing room moving so fast it was dizzying; he closed hid eyes, though the image of the blurred room remained as though burned into his mind. He closed them tighter, scrunching them up and tensing his muscles ready for the ground.

The first thing he noticed when he hit the ground was that it wasn't very ground like at all, for one it wasn't hard, it was quite soft actually, it hadn't hurt nearly as much as he had thought. Secondly it was rather lumpy, and third and finally, floors don't usually make "Oof!" sounds when you land on them. Something wasn't right, Charlie peeked open one eye, then the other and saw why; he was lying in the arms of Willy Wonka!

Wonka's legs collapsed from the impact in which Charlie had fallen, they were then both sprawled on the ground, Charlie lying over the top of Wonka. It was all very awkward. They lay there alone staring at one another, unsure what to do or what to say. For the first time, Willy Wonka was speechless.

Charlie didn't know what to do, should he get off quickly and apologise? He knew the man hated touch, and something like this might be an overload for him, but as soon as he had this thought Charlie realised he didn't want too. Wonka was so soft he might just as well stay down here, and he made Charlie feel all warm inside. The smell was intoxicating, he smelt like chocolate, but not ordinary chocolate, the best chocolate ever in the world, sweet, rich and creamy, the type that he would unwrap carefully and take tiny bites out of so it would last for ever and ever. Before he knew it, Charlie was unconsciously wrapping his arms round his mentor, compelled by pure impulse and need, laying his head down on the man's chest.

With a start he came back to Earth, his cheeks flushed red, and he realised the unimaginably awkward situation he was in. He jumped to his feet, stumbling slightly and dipping his head low, trying to look anywhere else than the face of his teacher. "Umm…" he mumbled, completely at a loss for words. Instead he watched Mr Wonka getting up, his face was of complete shock, and Charlie noticed his hands were shaking in his squeaky latex gloves.

The young boy tried to voice his words again, "I…. um… tha-thanks for y'know… catching me… um…" Wonka was still staring him, forgetting completely to try and mask his face; anyone could see that he was shocked and downright scared. Then, without making an excuse or saying anything at all, he walked off as fast as he could in the other direction to a Charlie-free place.

Charlie stood, completely gob smacked for several minutes. He was just as scared and confused as Wonka was. Though it was embarrassing, he had to admit, he had liked it. He'd liked laying there with Wonka, putting his arms around him and just holding onto him. He couldn't explain the feelings he had just felt, that he was feeling right now. His chest felt so warm, but not uncomfortably so. He tingled just from the thought of his touch. He could still feel the heat in his cheeks.

_Charlie didn't like boys… did he?_

Now he had an answer, he buried his head in his hands.

"Yes, yes I do."

A single tear rolled down his cheek, soon to be followed by many more.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter II- Bad Morning Starshine!_

He couldn't believe it, he wouldn't believe it … it just wasn't possible. How could he, Charlie Bucket, Willy Wonka's heir and the luckiest boy in the world… be _gay_? And even worse, to have fallen for Willy Wonka himself! Perhaps he wasn't so lucky any more.

'This isn't right! I can't like Mr Wonka… like… like this! It's wrong, it's disgusting! … It's… just not right.'

What would Wonka do when he found out about these awful feelings Charlie was harbouring inside himself? Would he be so disgusted that he would throw him out of his factory? At this thought Charlie paled and it was as if the gates of depression had been flung open. Fear flooded into him, engulfing his proper senses.

'He'd kick me out… and… and he'd find a new heir, he wouldn't want a… someone like me in his factory.'

Charlie rolled over on his bed, trying to stop thinking about it. All night he had tossed and turned, brooding over what had happened yesterday. He'd only managed to snatch a few hours of sleep, when he grew too weary to stay awake and fell into nightmare-laced dreams. He tried in one last desperate attempt to clear his head, he lay still, staring at the roof of his small house, emptying his head of all thoughts and eventually his breathing became calmer, as if he were going to sleep.

Light footsteps downstairs broke him from his doze however; he started slightly and realised that his parents must be up already. It was then Charlie had a most terrible thought, the fear came rushing back to him and swelled inside him, intent on bringing him misery.

'What… what would Mum and Dad say if they found out what I feel for Mr Wonka…? They would probably think it was it was a joke but … but then they would see. Would they not love me anymore? They'd probably hate me and think I'm weird. Would… would they hit me? They might do… I don't know. If they knew that about me, then maybe they would, and-'

Charlie was now completely out of his senses, his parents loved him and would never do anything that would hurt him, but he was drunk with fear, dark waves of it crashed violently in his mind, threatening to engulf him. His imagination had taken control of the reins, no matter how hard he tried to stop it, he couldn't help but come up with dark scenarios that might follow from yesterday, becoming more violent or painful as they went on.

"Charlie!" called his mother to him from downstairs, bringing him out of his self-destructive trance. "Are you awake?" Charlie usually leant over the side when he replied to his mother, but he was so out of breath and shaking so much that one look at him would tell her that something was seriously wrong. So he stayed where he was and tried to steady his racing nerves and speak calmly.

"Y-Yes Mu-mum?" His voice betrayed him with a stutter, but either his mother didn't notice or she ignored it.

"Can you come down sweetie? Your breakfast is almost ready."

"O-Okay, just a minute," he said clumsily, pulling on the clothes that were piled in a heap on the floor, not looking at what he was putting on. He took several deep breaths, attempting to calm himself and bit down on his tongue, using the sharp pain to stop the shaking.

He took one last deep breath and- hoping he looked normal- climbed down the ladder to greet his family, embarrassed that he had to have had that little panic attack upstairs. He'd regained his senses and had now realised most of the things he had thought were completely ridiculous. His parents very rarely hit him, and if they did, it was because he had done something very bad. They certainly wouldn't kick him out.

Charlie had to admit though, what had happened upstairs scared him, he hadn't been so worked up since… he could even remember being more terrified than that!

He struck the thoughts from his mind, he would just have to ignore his feelings for Wonka, and perhaps they would go away.

'Yeah, that's it- if I ignore them, they'll leave me alone. No point worrying over it, I'll just… leave Mr Wonka alone for a little while, then everything will go back to normal- I hope anyway.'

By the time he had reached the bottom of the ladder, he was feeling considerably less depressed than before, he even started trying to convince himself that his feelings yesterday were a fluke, or that he had misinterpreted them. As soon as his feet touched the floorboards he was greeted by his mother, who was wearing a flowery apron and a warm smile, her dark hair in its usual curled bob, a few wisps sticking out in front of her ear and curling down her cheek. "Good morning dear, did you sleep well?" she asked.

'I bet I have bags under my eyes- I didn't get any sleep last night.' He thought, but he said something different.

"Um... yeah, pretty good. Thanks."

'I can't tell her, I don't want to worry her- and- I can't let her find out.'

Now Charlie hated lying, but he told himself this was only a small lie. Little lies didn't matter much, he told himself, though he still felt thoroughly rotten doing it.

Mrs Bucket didn't reply, but she didn't walk away either. Confused, Charlie cautiously lifted his head to face her, wondering if she'd noticed how shattered he looked. To his discomfort, he found that his mother was staring at him as though she were a military general inspecting her troops. He dropped his gaze to his feet again and pretended to be very interested in his shoe laces, though he was barely looking at them at all; his eyes were glazed, thoughts swarming around his head like bees, settling on him for a few seconds to be replaced by others.

'She must have realised! What am I going to do? I'll have to have a reason why I look so terrible…' Mrs Bucket must have noticed her son looked like the walking dead this morning but continued to watch him in silence. Charlie begged for the floor to swallow him, but unfortunately the floor did not seem to want to grant his request. So he tried to think of an excuse. He plucked idea after idea from his drooping tree of thoughts, but tossed all of them aside, believing them to be rotten. It was while he was toying with the idea of pretending to be ill that he heard his mother's footsteps receding.

Charlie peeked at his mother through the corner of his eye, wondering what had happened. His mother was looking at the old clock on the wall; it read forty-two minutes past eight.

"That's odd," remarked Mrs Bucket, turning to her husband who was looking half-asleep in an arm chair by the wall. "It's gone half past and Willy isn't here yet. He's never been late before…"

Indeed it was true, Wonka always had breakfast with the Buckets, unless he had a new idea for candy and spent half the night in the Inventing Room, as he frequently did when new ideas emerged. However, when he did come for breakfast he would never be late, or would send an Oompa-Loompa to pass the message of his absence along.

He was quite an organised man when it came to the time, which was rather peculiar as Willy Wonka never seemed bothered with huge amounts paperwork and all the other things most factory owners would spend half their lives doing. When he wasn't making candy or blowing the Oompa-Loompa's up, he would be making witty jokes and playing silly pranks. (And often on Charlie too! He would never forget the time on his eleventh birthday when the cake Wonka had made him exploded in his face after he had tried to blow the candles out. The Oompa-Loompas had a lot of fun afterwards making a Broadway musical out of it. Charlie didn't think he'd ever be allowed to live that particular incident down.) Wonka didn't use logic or difficult mathematic equations to make his candy, the laws of physics and all that other nonsense Charlie learnt at school didn't seem to apply for him, he made his own rules up. Charlie guessed it was just part of the adventure that was living with Wonka.

The fact that he hadn't shown up was even more worrying to Charlie than the rest of his family. 'Perhaps,' he thought, 'he's mad at me for what happened yesterday, after all- he doesn't like touching people so he definitely wouldn't have liked me falling on him.' And just as Charlie was once again thinking it would be best to stay away from Mr Wonka for a while, his mother said the worst thing possible.

"Charlie dear, do you think you could pop over to Willy's room and remind him about breakfast? We can't have it getting cold."

The small bubble of hope that had been growing inside him popped in an explosion of technicoloured glory. Seeing Willy Wonka at the moment was the **last **thing he needed.

"Yeah," said a drowsy Mr Bucket, stifling a yawn. "I'm not sure where his room is though, try the Elevator, you seem to be able to get everywhere in this place from that. Not that I like it though, makes me feel sick." Charlie nodded numbly, not really listening to his father but thinking about how to get out of the mental pit he seemed to have fallen into.

"I-I can't go," blurted out Charlie without warning, his parents staring at him. "Because… because… he told me that… he was to busy to come today!" Charlie knew that he had just produced a truly tragic excuse, and produced it badly at that, but it was the best he could do. He really was a terrible liar.

"That's odd…" said his mother, "because Willy told me yesterday that he 'couldn't wait for another finger-lickin' breakfast' so I gathered he was planning on coming."

"Umm…." Charlie's mind seemed oddly blank, "But… um…" he then found he was being pushed by his mother gently in the direction of the door.

"Now, find Willy quickly so we can have breakfast together, bye sweetie."

"But- but- but…" but Mrs Bucket had already pushed Charlie outside and shut the door behind him. He could see her behind the curtains, waving to him. Glumly, Charlie waved back and headed towards the Elevator. He hung his head with exasperation. 'I guess that means I have no choice.'

Mrs Bucket was a nice woman, she was kind and loved her son with all she had, but she wouldn't give up. Usually this would be a good thing, when it came to things like this however… now Charlie would have to face Wonka because of her, something he wasn't too keen on doing, and then he would have to explain about yesterday to him, something he was even less keen on. It was all going very very wrong, and the lying only seemed to be making it worse.

'Well, at least she didn't notice anything was wrong with me, I have to be grateful for that,' thought Charlie sadly, marching on.

x

Back at the house, Mrs Bucket's frying pan was sizzling on the hob, filled with a delightful assortment of sausages, eggs and bacon. The aroma of it wafted from the little house, Grandpa Joe sniffing in the enchanting smell with anticipation. However, breakfast was not first on Mr and Mrs Bucket's priority list.

"Something is definitely wrong with Charlie," Mrs Bucket said in a concerned tone to her husband as they stood by the pan. "He's been stuttering, looks pale and- he **lied **to me."

"Hmm… I thought he looked a bit peaky today as well." Mr Bucket paused, "he lied to you? Charlie never lies."

"He is a terrible liar, it was written all over his face." said Mrs Bucket.

"He's probably so bad at it because he hasn't had any practise. He's such a good kid usually…" her husband said proudly. "But… what was it he lied about?"

"He said Willy was to busy to come today."

"That's… an odd thing to lie about..." said Mr Bucket, puzzled. "Why would he lie about something like that… do you think he and Willy had an argument?"

"I don't know," sighed Mrs Bucket, shaking her head in dismay. "But he looked so upset… I can't bear to see to see him like that, I just… can't…"

Seeing his wife distraught, Mr Bucket wrapped his arms around her and gave a quick peck on the lips. "Don't worry about it too much," he said in a comforting voice, "tell you what, if he's still like this later, I'll have a word with him, okay?"

Mrs Bucket gave a small smile and went back to her frying pan. "Okay…"

x

Charlie made his way through the Chocolate Room without any trace of a smile. He was angry at his parents for making him do this, he was angry at himself for his feelings and he was angry at Wonka for being so gosh-darn attractive.

He decided that today must be the worst day of his life. In the foul mood he was in, the bright colourful Chocolate Room appeared dull and dismal. The candy leaves looked dry and wilted. The swuldge at his feet looked yellowed and parched.

Slowly, miserably, he stepped into the Great Glass Elevator. He began to look for the button that would take him to Wonka's room; he'd never actually been there before but he was sure he had seen a button for it somewhere.

He reached his hand out, soft fingers brushing against the buttons of the Elevator, they stopped when they reached one that read 'Home'. Charlie gave a soft sigh and pressed it, readying himself for the turmoil of the Elevator. It suddenly jumped into life at his touch, eager to obey his commands and set off at top speed to its creator's room. It was just as fast and bumpy as usual, not that Charlie expected anything less. In the last few years he had learnt to enjoy the Elevator, he acted more like it was a roller coaster, letting out happy exclamations of "Wheeeeee!" whenever it jerked particularly hard. Today however he wished there was a 'slow' button; by the end of the ride he was feeling sick.

Immensely dizzy and holding one hand on the glass to stop himself falling over, he wobbled out of it into a corridor. The sight that greeted him however only served to make him more nauseous. It looked as if he had fallen into Alice's wonderland. The corridor he was standing in was wallpapered in a strange swirl pattern that made you fall down if you stared at it too long. The corridor was long and straight, but it had random bits jutting out or sticking in at random intervals- and he could swear they moved when he looked the other way. There were many doors, at least five on each side, but none matched. It looked as if a child had picked them out, some were blue and wonky, and others were pink and straight. There was even a strange stone door with some even stranger inscriptions (though Charlie had no idea what they said).

Once Charlie's head had stopped spinning, he was overwhelmed with contrasting feelings of curiosity and anxiety. He still felt a bit depressed and worried, but this was a part of the factory he'd never seen before and since it was Wonka's personal rooms there must be something interesting inside them.

He decided that he should try one of the doors; he moved to the nearest one- a purple one that looked like it was made of plastic. He took a deep breath and gripped the handle. He pulled.

There was no Wonka, he sighed- half in relief and half in amazement. The room he entered looked pretty much like an ordinary living room, with a plush sofa, roaring fireplace and colourful rug.

The difference that struck it apart from others was that it was upside down.

Charlie shook his head, half of Wonka's factory was pointless, and if he had been in a better mood he might have reminded himself that it was like candy, and that it didn't have to have a point. But in the mood he was in, in just managed to evoke a meagre gasp of surprise.

By the time Charlie had looked in almost all the rooms (containing a variety of completely pointless things like a child's ball pit, with the balls made of chocolate, or a floating dining set suspended in the middle of the room), he felt like running down the corridor screaming towards the Elevator, then going off to have a good old sulk in the sour gum room. His bad mood seemed to have returned fully.

It was then that he noticed it. It stood right at the end of the corridor, a huge chestnut panelled beast. It was an arch shaped, large and towering far above the others; Charlie wondered how he could ever have missed it earlier.

'That's one huge door… but where did it come from…?'

It was then that it occurred to him. 'It wasn't there earlier, it's just… appeared.' He moved slowly over to the wooden monster, 'this must be it, I've checked all the other rooms… I wonder if I'm actually allowed in here.' His trembling hand moved to grasp the gold doorknob. 'C'mon Charlie, it's just a door… even if it leads to Mr Wonka… c'mon, just open it…' he ran his fingers over the doorknob, feeling how smooth and cold it was, he made his mind up, 'three, two, one, NOW!' He twisted it and pulled.

The door opened silently, Charlie pushed it open a few inches, and then seeing there was no terrible fiery beast, opened it further.

What Charlie first saw when he entered was much unexpected and surprising, he had thought it would be like the other rooms, weird, wacky and just plain wonky. However, this room could only be described… as grand. It truly was a lovely room; the walls were painted plum red with a border of gold. There was a shaggy white carpet on the floor, the sort that made you want to kick your shoes off and wriggle your toes in, and a glass coffee table in the middle of the room (though Charlie suspected it was not glass at all but some sort of crystal). At the side of the room there was an old looking wardrobe and several drawers (on which Wonka's hat sat on top). At the back of the room, in the middle between two windows overlooking the front of the factory was the bed, a king sized poster, with silky red curtains falling half-open around it. The room was pretty, but it still maintained a Wonka-ish style, Charlie thought it must be the colour scheme; plum red was Wonka's favourite.

However, he didn't dwell on colour schemes and Wonka-ishness for long, because he had just spotted what he was looking for.

The man himself- Wonka.

Charlie slowly plodded over to the bed as quietly as he could, trying not to wake him up. Getting in sight of him, Charlie blushed, half the sheets had fallen off the bed and although Wonka was wearing clothes, the silk pyjamas he had on didn't leave much to the imagination. Charlie turned his head away, embarrassed, but it managed to move back to look again without his consent.

Things like this seemed to happen to him a lot lately.

He moved forward, preparing himself for the unpleasant business of shaking him awake.

"Mnmmm… Charlie…" startled, Charlie stopped and stared, Wonka had just moaned his name. Seriously. _Moaned_ his name.

"Oh… Charlie…" Wonka mumbled again. Charlie's eyes looked as though they were going to pop out of their sockets. Caught between instincts to run as far as he could away, or to throw himself on Wonka, kiss him into oblivion and do God knows what else, he instead caught his foot on a crumple in the rug and tripped over, reaching out to the bed to grab onto something and dragging all of Wonka's sheets down with him.

"Ahhh!" He cried, caught by surprise. This seemed to catch Wonka unawares as well however, and he sat up in bed, looking alert as a cat. He then saw the source of his disturbance, and stared bleary eyed to find Charlie lying half way off his bed with all the sheets on top of him, looking, basically, like an idiot.

Confused, perplexed, befuddled or whatever word you'd like to use, Wonka decided he better say something to the mess on his floor.

"Um... Charlie, if you don't mind me asking…what on fudges sake are you doing on my floor?"

Red-faced and dumbstruck, Charlie stared at Wonka, 'C'mon brain, give me a good excuse, I'm done for otherwise!'

"Uh… Well… I'm certainly not here to strip you naked and take porno pictures for the newspapers."

Wonka didn't look best pleased.

'Well done brain, I think I better get you amputated now.'


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter III- Memories_

Wonka sat in his office, after finally deciding that he couldn't put off the tedious paperwork any longer. He stared at it with an expression of pure boredom on his face, wishing he could be could be anywhere else than here. He heard a creak and turned his head instantly to the side, knowing that someone was entering. His office door was very creaky, not because it was old and rickety but because Wonka had made it purposely like that, since he hated being jumped up on from behind; the Oompa Loompas were much known for this. They were rather mischievous, after all.

He wasn't too surprised when he saw it was Charlie entering his office, the boy had taken to following him around a lot lately. Not that Wonka was complaining, however. But something looked different about Charlie today, it wasn't his clothes, or this haircut, it was his expression. Wonka didn't know Charlie had such an expression. It was one of daring, of love, and of lust.

Charlie pressed one finger to his lips and made a "Shh…" sound in Wonka's ear. "My parents don't know I'm here, so we've got to keep quiet," he paused, "I couldn't keep it bottled up anymore…"

"Keep what bottled up?" Wonka asked cautiously.

"The fact that… I love you." With these words, not even waiting for Wonka's reply, Charlie lustfully took his mentor's lips on his. Slowly, Wonka wrapped his arms around Charlie's small frame and returned the kiss.

Reluctantly, Charlie broke away to whisper a few words to Wonka. "Does… does this mean you love me too?"

"Yes Charlie, for the longest time, but… I didn't think you would return my feelings… and you're younger than me, a lot younger…"

Charlie waved it off. "Who cares about that? I love you." They kissed again, this time more passionately, Charlie running his soft hands though Wonka's chocolate locks.

"Mnnmm…Charlie…" he murmured softly.

Charlie took this as a sign that Wonka was enjoying himself and decided to go one step further; he slowly slid his hands up Wonka's shirt, feeling the skin underneath.

"Oh… Charlie…" moaned Wonka sensually as he-

There was a loud noise, and the image slowly faded away, marking the end of the rather erotic dream Wonka had been having. Reality returned to the reluctant Wonka, who wished to stay in that other strange dimension he had been in.

His eyes snapped open, seeking out the cause of the noise. Had an Oompa Loompa barged in his room again to clean? He sat up and looked around. He was dazed and confused, just a moment ago his lips were on Charlie's beautiful ones and his arms around his petite waist…

'Oh, it was a dream.'

Yes, it was a dream, one similar to those he had countless nights before, ones that showed his greatest and most darkest secret.

That he, Willy Wonka, master chocolatier, and renowned candy maker lusted every night for his apprentice- a mere twelve year old boy.

Oh man, would the press love that story if they ever found out.

His eyes darted around, searching like heat seekers. He looked down and saw his sheets had been pulled off himself, right down to the side of the bed, where in a heap lay- 'Charlie! What on Earth is he doing here? How **long** has he been in here?'

Wonka stared at Charlie, unsure of what to say; unsure of what his apprentice might have heard. Hesitantly, he asked what he was doing here.

In reply, Charlie slowly ripened like a tomato and stuttered out an excuse about porn and newspapers. Wonka stared at him, not expecting that response while meanwhile calculating what he should say next- should he be angry? Upset? Annoyed?

Instead he went with option four, and giggled loudly. "Charlie my boy, ya do say some funny things. Honestly, porno pictures- yer growing up way too fast. Wherever did you learn that word from?"

Charlie mumbled a small "school" under his breath, completely bewildered at Wonka's fast change in mood.

"Ha!" Wonka exclaimed, "I always knew school was bad for you. Dulls the mind, doesn't leave any room for imagination. Why, if it wasn't for your p-pa-"

"Parents?" filled in Charlie half-heartedly, still looking dazed.

"No, I can do it Charlie, give me a moment, pa… a…pa-parents! Yes, if it wasn't for them, I would have pulled yer out of school years ago." He nodded his head, as if agreeing with his own comment.

"Yeah…" Charlie barely took in any of what Wonka was saying, instead preferring to retreat in his daze of confuse and embarrassment.

"Oh ya, Charlie- I almost forgot. Why did you really come in here? I'm sure the newspapers don't really want naughty pictures of me. Well, I hope not anyway." He grinned at Charlie who had finally broken out of his trance.

"Oh, I… um… what was the question again?"

"C'mon sleepyhead, I didn't think I was **that** boring. I asked why ya came into my room."

"O-oh… right. W-well, you see…" In the end, Charlie decided that the truth would be the best choice. "Well… you didn't turn up at breakfast, so Mum sent me to come get you."

Wonka looked at Charlie and his mouth curved into a small O shape. "Uh-oh, whoops!" he giggled. "I seem to have accidentally slept in today… I'll be down in a minute, just give me some time to get dressed."

"Uhmm…" said a blushing Charlie, the thought of Wonka undressed too much for his already over-loaded imagination.

Smiling, the master chocolatier said; "Why don't you go back to the chocolate room and wait for me there." Charlie attempted a smile of his own, though he was sure that wasn't what it turned out as. He nodded.

"Okay Mr Wonka… I'll see you in a bit." He slowly plodded out of the room, the door shutting with a 'click' behind him, footsteps retreating as he headed back.

As soon as the door shut, the smile fell off Wonka's face. Running a hand through his hair, he collapsed on the bed. 'That was too close…' He thought, 'If Charlie ever realized what that dream was about, he'd be disgusted. If he ever realized what a… sick and twisted old man I am.' He shut his eyes and sighed heavily."I just… I don't understand at all…" mumbled Wonka, "Why do I feel like this for a little boy? Nothing like this has ever happened to me before… It's just great. Just bloody spiffing." He sighed again.

He rose to his feet and opened the wardrobe, grabbing the nearest outfit and clumsily pulling it on.

"I guess that the kids at school were right… I really am Weirdo Willy…" he giggled rather disturbingly, leaning on the wardrobe for support mouthing the same two words over and over again. But he wasn't conscious of this, for he had slipped into a flashback.

x

A young peculiar looking boy with monstrously huge braces walked out of his school gates, his eyes glued to the floor, a look of defeat in them. His father was going to give him a check-up today, which no doubt meant he would find yet another thing wrong with his teeth. Willy's mouth sank even lower, that meant another lecture.

He had almost made it to the road when someone called out to him; "Hey, metal-mouth, wait up!"

Willy recognised the voice; it belonged to one of the school bullies whose particular talent was in shoving the heads of new kids down the toilets, as well as bullying Willy, that is. He quickened his pace, knowing better than to stop and wait.

Only he wasn't quick enough, the boy grabbed hold of his arm and gave him a very nasty grin. "Hey Wonky, why didn't you wait for me?" he said. Willy mumbled in reply and feebly tried to get away, looking anywhere than the other boy's eyes.

"Hey, it's Willy Wanker! C'mon Fred, let's go see our old **pal** Weirdo Willy!"

'Oh no…' thought Willy with sinking spirits, seeing two more boys run towards him. These two were just as bad as the first, kids who picked on younger or weaker students than themselves, and always went in numbers. He tried to pull away from the first boy.

"Where do you think you're going Wonky? You're being very rude you know, you haven't even said hello." He motioned for the other two boys to hold him as well. Willy, seeing escape was now virtually impossible stopped struggling.

"…What do you want Zachery?" he said quietly, still not looking any of them in the face.

Suddenly the said boy dragged Willy upwards by the collar of his shirt, forcing him to look him in the eye. "I want to talk to you," he said, a menacing tone dancing dangerously in his voice.

Willy said nothing. With these particular boys talking was done with body parts and limbs, not with vocals cords. The boy, Zachary, spoke instead. "You didn't do that homework I told you to do, and I got detention because of it."

"I couldn't, I was too tired to do it as well as my own," Willy whispered softly, afraid to speak any louder. "Besides…" his voice wavered, "why couldn't you do it yourself?"

Zachery's face soured. "Because I've got a squirt like you do it for me, and I expect you _to do it._ But because you didn't, I hope you're ready for your punishment." A smirk climbed up onto his face, and he signalled with his hands for the two boys holding Willy to let go and join him.

"I'm sorry! I'll do it next time, I promise!" Willy said, protecting his face from the always expected blow. One of the bullies laughed and kicked him in the shin.

Crying, Willy screamed; "Let me go, let me go!"

With cruel smiles of enjoyment, the other two joined in kicking him.

"Willy Wanker!

"Metal-mouth!"

"Weirdo Willy!

Willy howled with pain and anguish and with strength he didn't know he had, he pushed the bullies away from him, running forward.

Right towards the road.

The car screeched to a halt, missing him by inches. The woman driving looked like she nearly had had a heart attack. Trembling, Willy erupted into tears, finally reaching breaking point. He fell to his knees, sobbing into his shirt.

"I-I'm…"

x

"Sorry…" Wonka whispered as his flashback ended, tears from his childhood spilling down his cheeks. He wiped them off swiftly, though his eyes still looked red and puffy. He looked down and realised his legs were shaking as they were in the flashback. He leant against the wall, blanking out his mind and watching as the shaking subsided.

'…There's no need to get upset,' he told himself, 'It was a long time ago, and besides, I have far worse memories than that.'

Relatively calm now, Wonka quickly glanced at his hands before pulling on maroon latex gloves. He sighed. 'One secret to another…'

He walked out of his room and shut the door softly behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter IV- A Kind Word_

There was an uncomfortable silence at the table, not a friendly quietness, but one of those awkward moments that stretched on and on. Charlie, his parents, grandparents and Wonka were having breakfast, after a long delay and several thousand apologies from the chocolatier.

"That's alright Willy," Mrs Bucket had said. "Now I know what to get you for Christmas- an alarm clock."

Then they had all taken a seat (Wonka and Charlie taking opposite ends of the table) and tucked in to their bacon, eggs and sausages. Though regrettably, they were cooler than they should have been. Now however, there was silence. It had snuck in the room and invaded the table so that everyone was caught in its spell. It was funny that though everyone felt awkward, no one quite knew the cause of it.

Well, almost no one.

Charlie and Wonka knew _exactly _where it had come from. The former was sitting with his head bowed, playing with his food. The latter sat stony-faced, looking straight at his plate and eating silently.

The reason of this awkwardness?

Each other.

"Come on Charlie, eat up. You won't grow big and strong otherwise." Mrs Bucket chided gently.

"Yes Mum…" mumbled Charlie as he took a bite of sausage and swallowed it forcefully, feeling as though it was a lump of metal he had just eaten. With Wonka in the room, he felt as though someone had dropped the bath plug down his throat, it felt restricted and painful, and his stomach buzzed irritably, not with the nice feeling from yesterday, it felt more like a minor stomach ache.

Mrs Bucket stared worriedly at her son and then turned to Mr Bucket with a 'Go on!' kind of look, waving her hand in the boy's direction stealthily behind a pitcher of orange juice.

Mr Bucket cleared his throat apprehensively and spoke; "So Charlie, Willy, what have you guys been working on lately? Any new amazing ideas?"

Wonka put a finger on his chin ostentatiously. "Hm…" he thought, "I'm still having a few minor problems with the Bubbletastic Balls, but a few days ago Charlie had an excellent idea. Do you want to tell them Charlie?"

Charlie lifted his head nervously, and seeing it was alright, gave the first real smile all morning, glad to be back on far less awkward subjects. "Yes, well, I'm not sure of the name yet, but I was thinking, you know those chewing gums that turn your tongue blue? Well, what about a chewing gum that turned your whole body blue? And other colours as well. I… I kind of got the idea from thinking about when Violet stole than gum and turned into a blueberry…"

Wonka smiled and finally locked eyes with Charlie, "We could have other flavours for different colours. Like raspberry would turn you red and cabbage would turn you green."

Charlie laughed a little, finally beginning to perk up a bit, "Cabbage?" he asked.

"Someone might like a cabbage flavoured chewing gum, you never know," Wonka said.

Grandpa George snorted, "I think I've had enough cabbage to last a life time thank you very much. Besides, who would want chewing gum that turned you green, or any colour for that matter? It's illogical."

Charlie looked thoughtfully at his grandpa for a moment before bowing his head again. "You're right, it is stupid. I'm sorry."

Mrs Bucket shot Grandpa George an annoyed look, "No no no! I think it's a really good idea Charlie… maybe not the cabbage, but I think the other flavours would sell well, right Willy?"

Wonka nodded, "There is no such thing as illogical. Furthermore, I think kids would enjoy being turned strange colours."

Charlie almost smiled, but then stopped; a new project would only mean spending more time with his mentor. His vow of staying away from Wonka seemed to be fading fast.

Mrs Bucket repressed a sigh and got out of her chair. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't seem to raise Charlie's spirits. She cleared the rest of her food in the bin, feeling as though she could not eat with such an awkwardness surrounding her.

She decided it was time to put an end to it. "Charlie dear, are you finished?" she asked him tenderly.

He looked from the plate of food he hadn't even touched. "Yeah… I'm not hungry."

Mrs Bucket smiled, "Then I believe your father would like to have a word with you."

Her husband looked startled. "I do?" he asked and then after a few moments, "Oh right, of course." He got to his feet and gestured for Charlie to follow him.

'I wonder what Dad wants to talk to me about…' Charlie thought anxiously, biting the inside of his lip. 'He couldn't have found out about… my feelings for my Mr Wonka, could he? It's not _that_ obvious… is it?'

Mr Bucket and his son walked out of the house and towards the bridge over the chocolate river. He sat down on it and patted the empty space next to him, Charlie then took a seat as well, still looking nervous. The chocolate river flowed beneath them silently, only the noise of the waterfall sounding in the vast chocolate room.

"So…" Mr Bucket began, "how are you Charlie?"

'How am I? Why I'm just freakin' wonderful, apart from the fact I've just found out that I'm _gay'_ he thought miserably."I'm fine," he said.

Mr Bucket looked at Charlie dubiously, "Are you sure son?"

'I guess I made it a bit obvious that I'm depressed… well, I guess I'll just have to think of an excuse then…' thought Charlie quickly, he then said as realistically as he could, "…I've had a lot of work at school lately… It's been hard and I haven't had a lot of sleep lately because of it."

Mr Bucket gave Charlie a worried and thoughtful look, "Do you want me and your mother to ring up the school? Maybe they would give you less work if we asked…"

Charlie shook his head dramatically. "It's alright Dad, it's because of the exams coming up soon. The teachers are giving us lots of work so we can prepare for it. I'll be okay."

Mr Bucket smiled and ruffled his son's hair, "You're such a hard worker and such a good kid Charlie. You're doing us proud."

Charlie felt a pang of guilt.

"Me and your mother were starting to get worried about you, but if it's just exams, that's okay. I'm sure you'll do fine Charlie, A for effort, huh? That's my boy."

Charlie wondered how people could lie on a regular basis like this; just doing this to his father was breaking his heart.

"We should throw a little party when you finish your exams Charlie, you're working so hard I think you deserve it."

'Stop' The word resounded in Charlie's head like a chime in the wind.

"We could blow up balloons and put up some decorations, some of your friends could come round too."

'Just…Stop.'

"Do you think your friend Sam would like to come? I'm sure he's been working hard too, what with all these big exams lately."

'I don't think I can take much more of this…'

"Yeah, I'm sure your mother can bake a cake, we still have some icing in the fridge from your Grandma Josphine's birthday. And-"

"…That's… That's enough!" Charlie exclaimed suddenly as he stood up, swinging his legs around the bridge and hopping back onto it as tears ran down his cheeks.

"What?" His father didn't have a clue what was going on.

"I…I'm not a big hero… and I don't deserve a party, or- or anything! I just…" he paused, choking back a sob, "I'm so sorry!"

He turned and rushed along the bridge and ran through the chocolate room, ignoring his father's distressed cries of "Charlie!" He just ran as fast as he could, not caring what direction his legs were taking him.

He just had to get away, from his father, from his guilt and from his mentor.


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter V- Winter Falls_

Though the night was not cold, the sharp stinging wind definitely brought a chill to the air, and Charlie shivered and wrapped his arms tighter around his legs, bringing him into a full foetal position. The stars in the sky twinkled in the moonlight, casting its reflective light over the factory. The wind ruffled his hair and stung his wet cheeks.

But he didn't care.

His eyes staring out far into the distance took in nothing of London's beautiful night time scenery; instead, the cogs in his head whirled into overtime, his mind ablaze with thoughts.

What had he done? Why had he run from his father crying, only to climb to the highest point of the factory, and to venture onto the dangerous rooftops? Charlie had never even been here before; he wasn't thinking where he was going, so long as it was far away from everyone.

Well, he supposed this was far away from everyone- no one would look for him here.

He didn't even understand what had happened back there, one minute his father was talking to him, guilt was crashing wave upon wave in his mind, and then… it was like his brain had blown a fuse, it had exploded in full technicolor glory.

He guessed this was what they called a minor 'mental breakdown'. Charlie sobbed harder into his striped jumper. Whatever had he done to deserve this? He'd always been a good boy; he'd done all that his parents had said and tried to help Mr Wonka to the best of his ability. Why had this happened to **him?**

It just didn't seem fair.

He cried and cried. The time stretched on to eternity and still harder he cried. Eventually, all his tears were spent, he felt empty, emotionless, blank. He rubbed his sore puffy eyes and wondered absentmindedly what the time was.

But it came to his attention that he didn't care about that either, it didn't really matter, after all. He didn't seem to care about anything at the moment though, he just felt so incredibly empty, like a dull washed out canvas that has lost its colour. Grey, that's what it felt like, a misty grey kind of feeling, like a fog. In these last few days, he seemed to have got himself lost in that fog. Completely and utterly lost, he didn't know what to do, what do say. He'd blown it now, he couldn't go back to his family like this, they would demand an explanation.

What ever could he possibly say to explain _that_ anyway?

Charlie buried his head in his hands; he could imagine it now, _"Hi Mum, hi Dad. I'm very sorry I just ran off and worried you, you see, I've been very depressed because I have a huge crush on Willy Wonka and I've been afraid you would hate me for it."_

He could just imagine their smiling supportive faces -Not!

There was absolutely no way he could tell them- or indeed anyone. He just couldn't bear to see their disappointed, disgusted expressions. He didn't want a childhood like his mentor's, sleeping on the streets because his parents didn't want him. The thought was unbearable.

He would just have to shoulder the pain alone and ignore what he was feeling. 'But I've tried that already and this is where it got me…' He thought with despair, and he curled up tighter into himself, feeling completely lost. This time, no amazing idea came to him. No brilliant excuse or plan. All he felt was the emptiness and the grey fog that swirled inside him.

Unnoticed by Charlie, the first snowflakes of winter began to fall.

x

"Charlie!" called Mrs Bucket, cupping her hands around her mouth to make the sound carry further. "Charlie, where are you?" she called again with desperation.

However, she received no answer. She was searching through the chocolate room for him, checking all his usual places over and over, as if he would magically appear if she looked a million times. Her husband and Willy had asked her to say in the house, in case he came back, but she couldn't stop pacing and felt awful just sitting around. Although looking in this room was virtually useless, she felt like she had to do something, anything, no matter how fruitless it was.

She suddenly caught a flash of something in the corner of her eye. She turned just in time to see the great glass elevator come whizzing down, the door opening and her husband falling out like he always did, looking slightly sick. Mrs Bucket ran over to him, speaking as soon as she was close enough for him to hear her. "Where's Charlie?" she asked, "Have you found him yet?"

Mr Bucket shook his head, "Sorry darling, we've been looking all day… but it's no use, the factory is too big, it's even possible he went outside." He ran a hand through his greying hair. "I don't even know what's wrong with him, perhaps we should just let him be alone for a while to calm down."

"No," said Mrs Bucket, "Charlie isn't like that, he usually comes to us whenever he's sad, and he's always so open… so I know that leaving him alone now is a bad idea. I just wish we knew what was wrong with him…"

Mr Bucket sighed and laid a loving arm round his wife, "I know dear, so do I."

x

Willy Wonka had searched every inch of his chocolate factory, from the dark chocolate underground mixing chambers to his very own office on the top floor. Every part of the enormous factory had been rigorously searched, not all by him though; even the famous Wonka couldn't cover that much ground so quickly. He'd the help of his Oompa Loompas, who had all abandoned their posts to help look for the boy.

But now… he was stumped. There was no place left in the factory to look, which could only mean one thing. "He's gone outside," Wonka murmured, gazing out the candy-paned window at the world below. All the buildings were covered in a light layer of snow, which was quickly getting deeper. Without anyone noticing it, winter had pounced on them all, and at the worse possible moment. "I can't send the Oompa Loompas out in this; they'd all freeze to death…" he said to himself, and even as he was speaking the snowfall became heavier and heavier- it certainly didn't show any signs of letting up soon, in fact, it was getting worse. It almost made him angry, after all, since when did they have such an amount of snow in _December_?

Whether he liked it or not, it seemed Wonka would have to wait until the snow let up. Resigned to this fate, he continued to climb the stairs he was standing on. These winding steps led to his office, and although it was the highest point in the factory, it wasn't his final destination.

The spiral steps led high into the building and ended when they reached an old creaky door, inside was a modestly decorated room with large windows and an oak desk which was carefully stacked with neat piles of paperwork. Above all of this was a trapdoor with a ladder leading up to it.

It was there that Wonka was heading, he climbed up the rungs and slid open the trapdoor, venturing out onto the rooftops, making sure his coat was done up tight.

Going here was nothing new to him; he often went here when he wanted to be alone. He always knew he wouldn't be disturbed, because the Oompa Loompas never went outside. Normally England's weather was far too cold for them. As for the Buckets, none of them showed any interest of going up onto the roof, Wonka was glad of this fact. The roof was the place he went to be alone, here he could survey the world below and yet not be a part of it. This suited Wonka just perfectly.

So, you can imagine the shock Wonka had when he climbed up to find Charlie sitting there.

"Charlie?" he said, feeling both incredibly relieved that he had found Charlie and nervous that his personal space had been invaded.

Charlie jumped at his name and spun around, he gaped at his mentor for a few seconds, his voice gone, before stuttering, "M-Mr Wonka?"

Both stared at each other as snowflakes fluttered furiously down around them, burying their shoes and hair with a white powder.

Soundlessly, Wonka walked down the sloped roof to sit with Charlie, close, but not too close.

However, on seeing Charlie's tear stained face; Wonka forgot his own fear and shuffled closer to his apprentice. "Charlie," he began, his voice soft and sad, "What's wrong?"

Charlie fidgeted with the hem of his jumper and stayed silent.

Seeing him so cheerless and tearstained only strengthened Wonka's own feelings, 'I love him,' he thought, Charlie's pain becoming his own, 'It's completely wrong and sick, but I do.' Pushing these thoughts back deep in his mind, he repeated his question again. "What's wrong Charlie?" He said, his voice slightly firmer. And then, to Wonka's surprise, Charlie spoke.

"Have you ever been in love, Mr Wonka?" the boy said, the words coming unbidden out of his mouth.

"Yes…" said Wonka, voice cracking, "A few times… They all ended up in nothing though…" He felt uncomfortable talking about himself, especially about private things like this.

"Have you ever been in love with someone, even though you know it'll never work out?" Charlie asked sadly, with a strange glazed look about his eyes, as if he was a long way away.

An image of Charlie bloomed in Wonka's mind at response to the question, but then, all of sudden, Wonka realised what Charlie was getting at. 'He's… fallen in love with someone…' He thought with mounting despair.

"Who?" croaked Wonka.

"…" Charlie thought carefully and realised that he did not have the strength to lie any more. He stayed silent. Sadness joined Wonka's despair when he saw that Charlie wasn't going to tell him, thinking that the boy didn't trust him enough to talk to him.

'Perhaps… perhaps I come across as a bit cold and uncaring… I don't know…' Noticing Charlie shivering, Wonka sighed. "I think it's time to come inside now Charlie, I can explain to your… Mum and Dad, if you like."

His apprentice nodded dumbly, noticingfor the first time just how cold he really was. He stood up carefully, his legs stiff from the freezing conditions he'd subjected them to. He trudged back to the trapdoor. Wonka followed him, making no complaint as Charlie spread snow over his floor, only speaking once on the winding stairs that would eventually lead back to the chocolate room.

"Whoever your lady friend is Charlie, she sure is one lucky girl." His words were laced with perfectly invisible despair.

x

Charlie and Wonka stepped out of the door to the chocolate room, after spending the rest of the journey in silence. Wonka was dressed with his normal face of indifference, Charlie looking wet and miserable, with his arms wrapped around himself, shivering.

They crossed the room quietly, the swuldge crunching slightly as they stepped over it. When they reached the Buckets house, Wonka gave a short sharp tap on the door. A sound of rushing footsteps sounded from inside before the door was flung open with great excitement.

"Charlie!" Mrs Bucket exclaimed, before throwing her arms around her son, ignoring how wet he was. Her husband then appeared next to her, a look of quiet relief washing over his face.

"Charlie," he said enquiringly.

Still in his mother's embrace, Charlie looked to his father, and then down to the floor, ashamed. "I'm sorry." he said.

His father nodded in understanding. "Come sit by the fire, you're soaked."

Heart warmed by the quiet acceptance the Buckets offered their son without an explanation, Wonka was reminded of his own mother and father, and he smiled grimly. 'Charlie must have the best parents in the world, I don't think he realises how lucky he is.' Although Wonka and his father were on speaking terms again, they still certainly could not be called 'close'. Bad memories were still brought up by seeing him and visits were always awkward.

Charlie sat down in the floor in front of the fire and rubbed his hands together furiously. He sneezed.

Mrs Bucket shook her head in a mixture of dismay and relief, before ushering Wonka and Mr Bucket outside, shutting the door lightly behind them. "Where did you find him Willy?" She asked, once they were out of hearing range of her son.

"The only place we didn't look- the roof. Typical, huh?" he said with a giggle.

Charlie's parents looked at each other, but shook it off- Wonka sometimes got in strange moods like this; they guessed it was just one of those days. "No wonder he's so wet then. It's snowing like mad out there," said Mr Bucket.

"My poor baby…" murmured Mrs Bucket, feeling protective and imagining her son sitting in the freezing cold.

"You look pretty wet too Willy, would you like to come in as well?" asked her husband.

"Oh, don't you worry about lil' old me, I'll be just fine. It's plenty warm enough in here." He waved his hand, gesturing that the hot climate of the factory would warm him up quickly enough.

"Well then… Did you find out what was wrong with Charlie? What made him so upset?" asked Mrs Bucket eagerly, who'd been wondering this all day.

Wonka suddenly went incredibly serious and the goofy smile fell off his face, "Oh, just some stuff about some girl he likes, I wouldn't worry about it too much." Both the Buckets looked surprised, they hadn't expected that at all.

"A girl?"

"Yeah, apparently he really likes her but their love can never be… or something like that, it doesn't really matter."

"Oh." Said Mr Bucket simply.

"They sure are growing up fast these days…" said Mrs Bucket, a little sadly.

"At least we know what's wrong with him now though," said Mr Bucket cheerfully, "and… maybe it's time for… The Talk?"

His wife laughed, heartened. "We've been rehearsing that one for years, looks like we've finally got the chance to use it."

Seeing that his job was done, Wonka began to walk away quietly, leaving the relieved and highly amused Buckets behind him.

"Willy!" Mrs Bucket called suddenly.

Wonka turned around. "Yes?"

She smiled, "Thank you for finding him."

Wonka tipped his hat in reply. "No problem," he said, walking away.

The two Buckets grinned at each other, realising what was to be done. They walked back inside the house, finding their son still by the fire, a little more colour in his cheeks. They sat down either side of him.

"Mum…Dad…" Said Charlie.

Mrs Bucket shook her head. "Don't worry Charlie, Willy has already told us all about it."

He looked at his parents bemusedly.

Mr Bucket laid a hand on his son's shoulder, restraining his laughter. "Now Charlie… I think it's time we had a little chat about something called the birds and the bees…"


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter VI- Growing Up_

To Charlie's complete embarrassment, his parents were serious when they said they wanted a chat about the facts of life, and although he'd heard it all before from school and various other sources –namely other kids- it is always worse when it comes from your own parents.

"And so sweetie, that's how babies are made," said Mrs Bucket, beaming at her son.

"Um, okay," Charlie said, his face tomato-like.

"But remember," added Mr Bucket, "It's not legal until you're sixteen."

Charlie blushed even more; he had the strange feeling his parents were enjoying this. He was about to mention this- when he sneezed. He wiped his nose on his hand and sniffed loudly.

"Charlie," Mr Bucket said with a gentle note of warning in his voice, "Use a tissue or a handkerchief."

"Sorry," said Charlie, but he accidentally sniffed again even louder.

"How long were you in the snow Charlie?" his mother asked.

"I… I'm not sure, maybe a couple of hours…" he said, shrugging with a look of shame on his face.

"Well no wonder you're sneezing; you've probably caught a cold. Honestly, sitting in the snow for hours, silly boy."

Charlie lowered his head in embarrassment, "Sorry," he mumbled.

"It's alright. Just… talk to us next time, alright? There's no point getting all worked up like that."

Charlie nodded numbly, his mouth dry.

Mrs Bucket moved to stroke her son's hair, but then suddenly pulled her hand back. Her husband noticed this strange motion with silent amusement, but also with a low sadness. 'He really is growing up quickly…' he thought, watching his wife and son. "Time to go to bed Charlie," he said, sighing softly.

x

Sometime in the middle of the night, Mrs Bucket rose, a burning urge in her bladder. Not wanting to disturb her husband, she took the candle from her bedside and fumbling, eventually lit it. Mrs Bucket slid her warm feet into furry slippers and exited the room, holding the candle in its holder. She shut the door silently behind her.

After relieving herself, she decided to check on Charlie. She used to look in on him most nights when he was younger; sneaking in before she went to bed to look on his sleeping peaceful face. Of course, as he got older and started to go to bed later it wasn't possible any more. She thought it would be nice to do it again.

She walked softly into the living room, her slipper encased feet making a quiet brushing noise as she walked across the carpet and -hoping the ladder wouldn't squeak too much- she started to climb. She covered the small stretch of ladder quickly, only stopping to wince a few steps up when the ladder did squeak, and rather loudly at that. She cringed and froze, but hearing no waking sounds from above she carried on and shortly reached the top. Mrs Bucket smiled seeing her son safely tucked in bed, his multi-coloured duvet Grandma Josephine had knitted him ages past draped over his small body. 'He might be growing up,' she thought, 'but he still looks like a little boy to me. But I suppose he always will be my little boy.' She looked sadly at her son and pulled his blanket over his exposed shoulder, kissing him softly on the cheek.

xxx

It was Monday and Charlie had reluctantly dragged himself to school, still very tired and sleepy. It was quite a small secondary school he went too, and of the regular variety; segregated into several social groups that dared not mix on pain of death. Charlie knew well to stay away from the popular boys- he would not be welcome with them.

Ever since he won the golden ticket to the fantastic Wonka Factory and become the chocolatier's heir however, the fields of division around him had started to shift. Any of the groups would gladly shift over in their seats to make space for him at lunchtime or let him borrow a pencil. But despite this, Charlie preferred to play with his own friends as he was smart enough to realise that those people wanted to be friends with Willy Wonka, not him. The people who teased him about being poor now smiled at him and asked at any opportunity what the great Willy Wonka was like, or what new candy he was making. Some of the more daring ones even asked if they could come round the factory as they were such good buddies. On each of these occasions, he let them down carefully and politely, not wanting the teasing to start again.

He met his friends, who were called Sam and Rowan at his form room as they sat round a desk playing cards. Charlie grabbed the nearest chair and pulled it over to sit with them. Sam put up his hand in greeting as Charlie sat down, smiling through his very battered bent teeth; the result of an unfortunate cricket accident.

"Hullo," he said.

Rowan merely looked up from his cards and grinned, longish dark hair swinging across his face. His mother had begged him to get it cut, but Rowan had refused adamantly, deciding it looked 'cool' long. Every once in a while he'd brush it back with one hand, tucking it behind his ears in one fluid motion.

"Who's winning?" asked Charlie, glad to be among friends again.

"Dunno yet," said Sam, "Rowan's won twice already though, I lost four quid!"

"Its cause you're so easy." grinned Rowan evilly. "I bet I could play you a hundred times and still whip your butt at this game."

"Hey! Leave my butt out of this!"

For the first time in days, Charlie felt light-hearted. He was here with his friends and there wasn't a Wonka in sight. He smiled, his mind drifting into the metaphorical puffy cloud of contentment.

"Charlie, hey, Charlie?" He started from his trance to find Sam calling in his ear and Rowan laughing.

"What?" he asked, still slightly shocked.

"Rowan was asking what lesson we have after registration," Said Sam.

"I… uh…" Dazed and confused, Charlie pulled out his homework diary and checked the timetable at the front, "Um, science, with Mr Turkentine. But why couldn't you just look at your own diary?"

"It's easier to ask you," said Rowan playfully.

"Well, at least that lesson's not too bad. Turkentine is always a laugh," said Sam, laying his head in his folded arms.

"He's a bit of a moron though," Rowan commented.

"That's what makes it so funny." They all laughed a little, and their form tutor walked in, shortly followed by the bell. Several more students rushed in afterwards, piling into their seats, pushing and laughing. Their teacher took the register quickly and let them chat, not bothering to do anything constructive in the precious twenty-five minutes they had together. Unless filing ones nails counts as constructive, that is.

Charlie sat talking to his two friends about anything and everything looking altogether like he didn't have a care in the world. After all, he was here with friends, away from his object of desire and despair- Willy Wonka. Charlie felt blood rush to his young cheeks as he thought of his mentor and a strange unidentifiable feeling of pleasant warmth spread to his stomach.

Rowan looked at Charlie with an expression of puzzlement and the said person blushed harder, realizing he'd suddenly paused in conversation and was staring out the window with a rather dreamy look on his face. He was unpleasantly reminded of that rather fateful day just a short while ago when he'd fallen down from the Inventing Room. He supposed it wasn't all that bad however, when he'd touched –or rather fallen on—Wonka he'd had that lovely feeling of warmth for the first time, his whole body had felt like electric. He'd never experienced anything like it before.

"Hello, earth to Charlie, anyone in there?" Sam suddenly called, ostentatiously waving his hand slowly in front of Charlie's face as if to ask 'Is anyone home?'

Blushing seemed to becoming routine these days and he was beginning to feel a lot like one of those giggling school girls from his mother's book collection where the heroine falls head over heels in love. Except, he thought with a strange kind of amusement, he'd fallen on top of love.

x

"Okay class," said Mr Turkentine, turning to his young students, "I know Monday is the day we usually have our weekly test, but according to the curriculum you have to do at least one lesson of sex education a year. But since this is a double anyway, it doesn't really matter since we can do both. So everyone get out your pens ready for the test, then after we can learn the stuff that was on it."

Charlie, Rowan and Sam exchanged confused glances, a motion what was repeated by many of the other children. Charlie began to nibble at his finger nails as Mr Turkentine put the short test papers on everyone's desks. "Right," announced their teacher once they all had a paper, "we usually have fifteen minutes for these tests, but since the clock is broken and away for repairs, I'll count two-hundred footsteps instead. Understand? Great, let's go. Exam conditions please, no talking."

Everyone got to work, most of them looking very confused since none of the questions had been covered in class. This was Mr Turkentine however, and if he didn't lose the tests before he marked them, it was very likely his dog ate them. Seriously.

Used to his teacher's odd habits, Charlie got to work, with the growing feeling that someone up there was mocking him. For example, first there was 'the talk' yesterday and now sex education today! Normally these lessons were quite good and often very funny, but the recent events didn't make them look very attractive at all. He was getting quite tired of being told that boys loved girls. That was fine for them, but what about **him?** It was quite obvious to him of his feelings for his mentor- who was a guy. So what was he supposed to do? The world wasn't made for people like him; a little while back everyone was teasing Rowan and saying he was gay, Charlie remembered how nasty everyone was to his friend. He didn't know where the rumours had come from, but he had defended Rowan fiercely and eventually the rumours had died down. Charlie really didn't want the same thing to happen to him, he really didn't. Rowan was pretty tough, but even he had cried and stopped coming to school for over a week until Charlie and Sam had begged him to return. Charlie couldn't bear to think what it would feel like if it happened to him, which was part of the reason he was so desperate to suppress his feelings, he supposed.

"Right children, times up," Mr Turkentine spoke, startling the thoughtful Charlie. "Pass your papers up to the front so we can start the lesson." Charlie looked at his half filled in paper, but passed it up anyway, hoping he would lose this week's papers as he usually did. The rest of the class did the same, cheering about the upcoming lesson. Sex education was usually a laugh, after all.

Mr Turkentine strode to the board, grabbed a chalk and scratched 'Sex' in big letters. Several immature students giggled from the back row. "So, who can tell me anything about sex?" A smirking cocky looking boy put up his hand. "Yes Martin?" said Mr Turkentine.

"It's good."

"Okay, it's good." He turned to the board to write it before realising what his student had just said. "Hey, wait a minute, you're twelve Martin, how would you know?"

The immature students burst into laughter again, several loud screeching girls looking like they were going to fall off their chair in hysterics. Martin turned bright read and the smirk fell off his face.

Obviously used to this, Mr Turkentine carried on. "So what else can you tell me about it?" One of the giggling girls put up her hand, still trying to contain herself. "Yes Stacey?"

"It's done by a man and a woman when they're in love." Stacey said, still smiling madly.

"Unless they're a prostitute!" One of the other boys called out, more shrieking ensued.

Just when the commotion was starting to calm down again, someone else shouted, "They could be gay!" Wolf-whistles were sent in Rowan's direction, showing that all the rumours weren't quite gone.

"Okay, that's enough now!" Shouted Mr Turkentine, knowing where this was going. He'd had enough phone calls from Rowan's parents to know what this was about.

One of the students was evidently confused, he lifted his hand. "But how do guys… do it? I mean thy don't have… um.. you know…" A torrent of giggles shrouded the room.

"Calm down class! Calm down! Uh…" Their teacher wasn't quite sure what he would tell his students. "Um… well… I'm not homosexual, so I wouldn't know."

"Hey Rowan, you know don't you? You can tell us, right?" Martin, the boy who had tried to be smart earlier asked, seeming to have regained his nerve.

"Piss off…" Rowan mumbled, casting his eyes to the desk.

"Oooooooo!" cried Martin's friends as he stood up and walked over to Rowan's desk.

"You starting on me?" He asked, raising an arrogant eyebrow.

"Martin, sit down!" Mr Turkentine shouted, but was ignored. Everyone's eyes were on the two.

"I said… are you starting on me?"

"Just leave him alone Martin," Charlie stood up and faced the bully. "He's not… what you said he is, so just leave him alone.

Martin's friends let out another chorus of "Ooooooo!" as Mr Turkentine struggled to get through the big gaggle of students that had crowded round the three, their eyes shining with the prospect of conflict.

"Sticking up for old gayo' now huh?" Martin said, his voice dripping with obnoxiousness. "What are you now, his bum boy?"

Charlie was taken aback and hesitated before answering, "N-No I'm not!"

"Hah! Rowan's got a new bum boy!" Martin laughed, urging the class to join in with him. "Bum boys, bum boys," they chanted "stupid cupid bum boys!"

Martin walked closer to Charlie as the rest of the class mercilessly continued to chant, he shoved Charlie against the desk, still smiling cruelly.

At that moment Mr Turkentine broke through the crowd and stood between the two boys. "That's ENOUGH!" He roared, angrier than anyone had ever seen before. "Martin, get out of my class NOW and get down to Mr Bian's office!" Martin smirked harder at Rowan and Charlie. "NOW Martin!"

"I'm going, I'm going. Keep your wig on, teach," Martin said, casually walking out of the room, still with an arrogant look on his stupid little face. The door shut behind him and Charlie sniffed, trying to keep back the tears prickling at his eyes. He looked up at Rowan, who was still sat at his desk, his hands over his face. Sam was at the back of the crowd, unable to get through, a concerned look on his face. By the look of things, he seemed to be one of the few in the class who didn't join in with the taunting.

"Come on boys… let's go outside for a minute," their teacher said to the two boys in a much gentler voice, leading them to the door. Just before he walked out, he turned to his silent class, saying, "I'm ashamed of all of you."

Once out of earshot of the class he spoke to them, who were both now sniffing and wiping their eyes. "Now, now," he said, patting them both on their heads, "don't listen to them, you know what they're saying isn't true." Charlie hiccupped. "Why don't you two go to the bathroom and get cleaned up, I'll go sort Martin out and then I'll ring both of your parents. I think you deserve to go home after that…"

Charlie nodded blindly and Mr Turkentine hurried off, not quite the bumbling fool he was this morning. Charlie watched their teacher walk briskly off through bleary eyes as tears swam down his cheeks. Trying to swallow his sadness, he put his hand round his friend's wrist and pulled the unresponsive boy towards the bathroom. He shut the door behind him, glad that it was not in use and released Rowan's arm. They stood for a moment leaning against the wall next to each other, sobbing. Charlie couldn't believe how cruel his class was- he thought they liked him. Well, he thought some of them liked him anyway. How could they turn on him so suddenly? It just seemed so unfair…

Finally, he looked up and spoke, "You okay?" he asked his friend softly. Rowan looked up from his tear-stained hands and said nothing. "Sorry…" said Charlie. "That was a stupid question."

"It's alright," said Rowan just as quietly after a long pause. "I'm the one who should be saying sorry. You didn't have to help me, you know. Now they're gonna start on you too."

"…You're my friend Rowan, I couldn't just leave you, you know? And… I know they're probably going to start teasing me now… but it'll be okay if we stick together, right?"

Rowan smiled in gratitude, "You're the best friend anyone could have Charlie. I really can see why Willy Wonka chose you as his heir." Charlie's heart missed a beat when Rowan said his mentor's name, but he still smiled out of the love for his friend.

x

Charlie was sat in reception. A short while ago Rowan's mother had come to pick him up, fussing and clucking over her son before swooping off with him under her wing. Sitting uncomfortably in his seat, Charlie fiddled with the hem of his school jumper. Mr Turkentine had already phoned the Factory and had spoken to Doris, who had promised to send a message to the Buckets. He wondered how they would get here, his parents didn't own a car or any other vehicle and he doubted they would walk. He supposed they might have taken the Great Glass Elevator, which meant **he** would be coming too…

The tell-tale bump echoed from outside and he saw his mother hurrying up the stone steps to the school. He couldn't see the Elevator, but he suspected it was just behind the corner.

Mrs Bucket pushed the door open and rushed forward to her son. "Charlie! Are you alright? The school called, and we came as fast as we could-and-" she paused for breath, and then asked, "Are you okay?"

Charlie looked up from where he was still playing with is jumper, "…I-"

"Ah! Mrs Bucket, so nice to see you again. Unfortunate that it has to be under these circumstances however…" Mr Turkentine said, entering the room and switching into teacher-to-parent mode. "Could I please talk to you in the other room? I think I should explain the situation to you about what's happened."

Mrs Bucket looked at her son with concern in her eyes before turning to his teacher. "Okay. I'll be back in a minute Charlie sweetie."

Mr Turkentine held the door to the corridor open for her and they both walked through, the teacher shutting it firmly behind him.

Charlie directed his attention back to his jumper, pulling on a loose blue thread until half the hem of the garment had gone and he realised what he was doing. He dropped his jumper in shame and sat quietly, too emotionally drained to eavesdrop or do anything else.

He heard the noise of the door opening and he turned his head to see his mother and teacher re-emerging. Mrs Bucket looked at him with sympathy, and as he got to his feet he was enveloped in a hug. "You're a good boy Charlie," she said softly to him, "a good brave boy." She drew back and smiled at him, "Let's go home, shall we?" Charlie nodded and they walked out of the school, Mrs Bucket rubbing her son's shoulders comfortingly. "Are you okay, my brave little bird?"

They turned the corner and Charlie saw the Great Glass Elevator standing in front of them, with Willy Wonka leaning against it. They both looked up at the same time and just for a second Charlie thought he saw something different twinkle in his mentor's eye. He flushed and turned to his mother. "I will be," he said.


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter VII- Cocoa Beans and Betrayal_

The Great Glass Elevator gleamed in the morning sun as Willy Wonka leaned against it. His posture so perfect, and his face so straight that no one could guess the inner turmoil that went on inside him. It was partly true (well, very true) that he had been sulking in his room for the remainder of yesterday and all of this morning, but when Doris had knocked on his door and told him that something was wrong with Charlie he had rushed out to the rescue. Now that he was actually here however, he felt very uncomfortable and unsure again and he had let Mrs Bucket go inside herself while he waited by the Elevator, trying to resist the urge to run back at top speeds to the factory and shut himself in his room. When Charlie and his mother had returned he had quickly looked up and had seen his heir looking tearstained and sad and he was suddenly was struck by how cute he looked like that. Shocked by his own dirty thoughts, he threw his eyes to the floor and commanded them to stay there. This was his heir, a mere child- and he was most definitely **not **a paedophile. He heard Charlie say something to Mrs Bucket –and remembering her- he looked up, directing his attention to the mother rather than the son.

"I see you got him," Wonka said, rather lamely.

"Yes, thank you for coming with me to get him Willy; it would have taken me much longer if I had come on my own." Mrs Bucket smiled, although it was a bit sadly. It could hardly be avoided considering the current predicament however. They all walked into the Elevator, Wonka shutting the door behind them and, once they were all safely in, pressing the button to take them back to the Factory.

It was quite crowded inside and Wonka felt even more nervous than usual being so close to his apprentice. To take his mind off this, he looked down at the school they were leaving behind and he suddenly thought of something. 'I wonder if that girl Charlie likes goes to his school?' He felt jealousy pulsing though his veins and couldn't stop himself before he spoke. "Say, Charlie," his voice was light and almost squeaky, "that girl you like, does she go to your school?"

Charlie turned red and said in a just as high voice, "Uhm, yes, she does."

"Oh right," commented Wonka airily, "Is she in your class then?"

"…Yeah…"

Wonka nodded, swallowing hard. "I see."

Mrs Bucket looked confused, sensing the tension between the two and remembered her past thought that perhaps the two had an argument. But… the way they were acting, it didn't seem like it. It was almost as though they were afraid of one another. For the past few days Charlie had been acting incredibly oddly, now it seemed Willy was joining in as well. She was beginning to wonder if something was going on that she didn't know about.

The short journey passed in silence after that, Wonka with his usual nonchalant gaze and Charlie with a complete expression of sadness. His eyes were still rather red. Finally the Factory came into view and the Elevator landed just inside the gates, the riders piling out. They walked through the main door and into the central corridor, Wonka flinging his warm winter coat to the side, reminiscent of the day over two years ago when he had chosen his heir. "Well my boy, my dear lady," he said, his voice chirpy and bouncy again, "I must get on. Lots to do, you know, mounds and mounds of paperwork. I'll see you both a bit later, call me if you need me and I'll skedaddle back and do what I can for you." He took of his hat to them and made a movement that was not quite a nod and not quite a bow- that was somewhere in the small expanse between. After that he walked away, Mrs Bucket's goodbye and her child's somewhat softer one falling on his back.

He strode down the corridor and, once he was out of sight of the two, pushed back the soft material of a curtain that hung over part of the wall to reveal a stone archway behind it. There were many secret doors and passages like this around the factory and they all led to rooms which he frequented a lot, such as the Inventing or Chocolate Room. There was also one that took you to the wing where the Oompa-Loompas lived. The Oompa-Loompas themselves knew about these passages and often used them; Charlie had found one or two as well. So as such they weren't very 'secret', but the thrill of putting them in when Willy Wonka built the factory proved far too hard to resist.

Behind the archway was a set of steps cut from rock that winded and turned in every way imaginable. They even seemed to go upside down. To anyone who walked them, the stairs would seem to be going in circles, which in fact they did. However, they did in fact lead somewhere- which was his quarters. The fact that he had ended up in a completely different part of the factory by taking stairs that went around in circles might seem mad to some, but to him it was perfectly logical.

He walked out into his hallway and as soon as he did, the strange jutting twisting walls that Charlie had puzzled over started to shrink in, leaving a rather normal looking corridor. He passed by all the other rooms and headed towards his bedroom at the end, his face expressionless. He pulled the door handle and walked through, relieved to be back in the warm familiarly of his abode. He headed over to one of the windows next to his bed and tied back the white curtains that hung over them. There was a magnificent view of the city from his room, though he didn't often look outside to enjoy it, preferring to keep the curtains closed in case wandering eyes from down below found their way to his window. Today however, he opened them without care, pulling the clasp that held them in place and flinging them out wide. He rested his elbows on the frame and stuck his head out, wanting to clear it, the sharp winter wind caressing his face and tugging gently at his hair. He saw the sun shining dimly in the sky, clouds obstructing it from view as they invaded the whole sky. The buildings stretched out endlessly in front of him, as if lining up for inspection. He could see the small plot of land where Charlie and his family used to live, it was empty now- but he expected it would be bought up before long. A bit of land so close to his factory, no matter how small, was usually picked up pretty quickly and he often saw newcomers to the city gazing at the factory gates in admiration. It always made him feel very proud, though he was careful to duck out of view.

Refreshed, he pulled his head back in, but decided to leave the window open. He stepped back and fell onto his bed, letting his eyes close. The air hadn't helped clear his mind after all, he himself felt fresher, but his mind was still busy, restlessly sifting through issues in his mind, never ceasing. He kicked off his shoes and they flew onto the ground, landing with a bump on the carpet. Wonka stretched out on his soft bed, feeling himself sinking into it already, the soft pillows tempting him with sinful ideas of sleep.

Deep in thousands of other thoughts, he absent-mindedly remembered that the Elevator was still outside. He would have to park it sometime—or maybe he could get one of the Oompa-Loompas to do it. He wondered if they were tall enough however, maybe one could stand on the other's shoulders?

Normally, he would go out straight away himself, but today there were more pressing matters at hand. As soon as he let the thought of the Elevator go he felt it get sucked in by the gravity of the more important thoughts. For weeks now—even months—he had wrestled with his growing attraction for Charlie. He had hoped that his feelings would change, that this was just a passing crush. Unknown by him however, these were the exact thoughts of the boy himself and as time went by, these hateful feelings of his only seemed to get stronger, driving him to deeper despair. He never showed it on the outside though, the police could shut him down for something like this- and, even worse, he could lose Charlie. Wonka and Charlie had become great friends over the past two years, and although being a friend was not quite the status he would have most liked, he did not want to lose it. Wonka just hoped the Oompa-Loompas hadn't noticed anything, they were very perceptive people and if anyone found out, it would be them.

All Wonka's thoughts seemed to go round in circles, just like the staircase he'd taken to get here. Unlike the stairs however, his thoughts never seemed to go anywhere. They just went around and around, not helping him in the slightest. He still had no idea what he should do. 'Well, I know my choices,' he thought, brow creasing, 'I could continue to ignore my feelings- but I know that won't work, it's far too hard. I would probably crack from pressure and end up doing something terrible…

'Asking Charlie and his family to leave is an option, but… then they would get upset and ask why! And I… I don't them to leave. Charlie is my friend and his family are… decent people. I'm tired of being surrounded by nothing but Oompa-Loompas, they're interesting… and I'm friends with many of them, but it's just not the same.

'The only other way I can see, is telling Charlie how I feel about him. But… I can't do that, the idea of it is preposterous! You don't tell a child you love them in that way, they probably wouldn't even know what you mean. He and his family would hate me for it, and I don't ever ever want to hurt him! Because I think I…I…' wrestling with the enormity of these thoughts he pulled a pillow from the head of his bed and hugged it tightly, whispering, "I think I love him."

x

A small crowd of Oompa-Loompas stood outside the massive door to Willy Wonka's bedroom. Among them was his head secretary, Doris, and the Loompa known as Patrick, he had been one of the ones helping Wonka save the man trapped in the bubble a few days back. They all spoke in hushed murmurs, not wanting their employer inside to know they were there.

"What did you say was wrong with Charlie?" said an Oompa-Loompa who wore the shiny black outfit of the inventing room, swirly glasses and all.

"He and his friend were being bullied by some boys apparently," tutted Doris. "They were teasing him, calling him 'gay'. It almost ended very badly, but his teacher managed to break them up, I talked to him on the phone about it."

The other Oompa-Loompas looked surprised, several raised eyebrows at the secretary. "So where's the boy now?" asked a quiet Oompa-Loompa.

"Back at his house, I presume," said Doris.

"Well, it's good news for Willy though, if it is indeed true," the Loompa from the Inventing Room said with a cheeky look on his face. Several of the others restrained snorts of laughter behind him.

"They were just teasing him, but if it is true, perhaps it's better for all of us," said Doris, "Willy has been so much more absent-minded lately, and if he doesn't think I haven't seen the way he looks at Charlie, he must be going senile. Or the looks of despair on his face afterward."

"I've noticed too," piped in one of them.

"I think we've all noticed," said another.

"I'm disappointed in him if he thinks we wouldn't. But that's not the point, what we need to do now is decide what to do. I've gathered you all here because I know you've all had personal dealings with Willy and that you will support him no matter what. At least, I hope you will."

There was lots of nodding and small cries of 'Yes!' from the group and Doris smiled. "So, now we need to decide on a plan of action."

"Well, what should we do? It's hardly our place to do anything- this is their business, we shouldn't meddle," said the quiet-voiced tribesman.

"No," said Doris swiftly. "That's not an option; you've all seen how miserable he's been for the past few months. He's been trying to hide it, and it's worked well on Charlie and his family, they haven't noticed a thing. But we're not normal humans, we're Oompa-Loompas, you can't hide anything from us." There were some small whoops and cheers at Doris's words, but they kept it hushed, and since they only had small voices to match their small bodies, the noise was not noticeable from inside the room. "He's been getting more and more depressed everyday, if we leave him how he is now… who knows what he might do…"

"You mean to Charlie?"

"I don't think he'd ever hurt Charlie, haven't you seen how he looks at him? It's with love, not lust… I was more thinking of what he might do to himself."

The Oompa-Loompa let out a small "oh" and said nothing else.

"I'm sure you're all aware of-"

"Yes, yes, we know all too well." The Inventing Room tribesman said gruffly. "But what should we do? It won't do any good to try and force him away from the boy, we all know that. Even talking to him about it would be incredibly difficult. You know it's impossible to 'talk' to Willy Wonka about something he doesn't want to talk to you about."

"I wish he just had a more normal love interest in the first place; relationships with big age gaps just aren't accepted in this society. I don't judge him on it, but it's going to cause him and those around him a lot of pain," Patrick said, speaking up at last.

"To be honest, I'm not surprised he fell for Charlie," sighed Doris, "Willy's so much like child himself it makes sense he'd fall in love with one of his kindred. As for them both being male… well, I have no problem with it, that kind of thing is becoming more widely accepted in the world anyway. I'm aware that some of the tribe is not happy about this though, Sengal's clan especially. He called a meeting last night and all the elders attended… I don't know what went on there, but I'm pretty sure what it was about. I've spoken to Sengal already though and made him promise that his clan won't say anything and… I don't think they will. After all, it's a privilege to live with Willy in this wonderful place and I don't think they want to risk losing their home here. They are definitely not approving of Willy at the moment though, and I fear someone will rebel and mention it to Charlie and his family. Everything seems calm now though, for the moment at least."

The shiny outfitted Oompa Loompa growled, "Sengal and his clan are nothing but vicious brutes."

"You only say that because you and Sengal had that argument about the Cocoa Beans," a quiet voice said with amusement.

"Wasn't that four years ago though?" asked one of the others.

"…Yeah, but he still owes me them. It's not right of him to kick up such a fuss about this though! I mean… it is kind of weird, but we have to accept how Chief Wonka is. I know he won't ever do anything to hurt Charlie."

"I'm glad you agree with me," said Doris, "Now, any ideas on what we could do?"

"Someone could talk to him."

"We could write him a letter and put it under his door."

"How about a song to tell him we know? We could use the lighting and make up a dance routine!"

Doris glared at the last Oompa-Loompa, "I don't think that would help," she said, retraining herself.

"But singing always cheers him up!"

"This isn't about cheering him up. It's about resolving the matter, we need to help Willy sort out his feelings for Charlie and get through this."

"But singing-"

Doris's glare quickly shut the Loompa up; she then promptly rolled her eyes. "Well, we must do something, then maybe **after** you can make a song."

"It could be our best performance ever! We could have two of our tribe playing Charlie and Willy and we could show the events in the factory from when Charlie moved in!" someone said excitedly.

"It could be an epic love story!"

"A musical masterpiece worthy of Hollywood!"

"I want to be Charlie!"

"Shh!" muttered Doris, "Willy will hear you if you keep being so noisy! Like I said before, we need to deal with the matter at hand. Musicals and epic love stories can come later." The other tiny beings carried on chattering, unheeding of Doris's words. She tried again, but they seemed to be too caught up with their ideas to take any notice. In the end, she lost her temper. "Will you all just shut up for a minute a listen to me?!" she shouted.

The padding of shoeless feet sounded faintly behind the door they were all clustered by and the Oompa-Loompas froze.

A second later, Wonka pulled open the door, looking puzzled at the sight of the tiny people, who were all lined up perfectly by his door. "Hey guys," he said, "what's cookin'?"

"We're here to clean your room, sir." The Inventing Room tribesman said flawlessly.

"Oh right… well there's not much to clean I'm afraid, the other guys did a pretty spotless job before…Doris? What are you doing here?"

"I came to see if you'd finished the paperwork for this month's shipment," said Doris, lying effortlessly.

"Oh, right then, please come in all of you. I have them somewhere on my table…" Wonka said the last bit weakly, as if unsure. He walked inside and the others followed, as he sifted through the mound of papers on the glass table, hunting for the elusive shipment details. "I know I have them here somewhere… I finished them a few days ago…" he searched through the entire pile of paper that sat precariously on his table, his brow furrowing further with every paper he put aside. Dismay began to grow on his face and the other Oompa-Loompas glanced at one another from the various places in the room they were cleaning.

"Are you sure you didn't put it somewhere else?" asked Doris, surprised at her employer. Willy Wonka hardly ever lost anything, it was practically unheard of. Wonka stood from the crouching position he was in and bit his lip silently, for once unable to remember. "Did you leave it in your office?" prompted Doris helpfully.

Wonka shook his head, becoming increasingly flustered. "No, I remember filling them out here… and then I put them… Oh!" His expression suddenly changed as the answer swooped over him. "Splendiferous! I remember now!" He marched on over to a dresser that stood by the wall. It was a small dresser, but it had many draws, some were big enough for a wok, others could only possibly pit a peanut. He pulled open a medium sized draw and dragged a massive wedge of paper out. He carefully unloaded it in Doris's hands and saw her grimace from the weight of it. "I put them in the draw because I thought I might lose them if I put them on my table. It's a mess on there; I can't believe I've been so unorganized lately." He rubbed the back of his head nervously, letting out a small giggle.

The Oompa-Loompas who were cleaning now walked up to Wonka and he leant down to speak to them. "We're finished now Mr Wonka," one of them said.

"Oh right, thanks a lot," Wonka said with a quick goofy smile. They all wandered out of the room, casting secretive glances at Doris as they walked past, wishing her luck with their smiles.

When they were all gone and the door was closed behind them, Wonka realised Doris must have something more to say to him. "Yes Doris?" He said, hoping she would leave soon so he could go back to his thoughts.

"You've been very absent-minded lately Willy," she said, choosing her words carefully, "Is something wrong?"

Wonka's heart went to his mouth and he felt his face go pale. "No, of course not, nothing is wrong. I'm still as fit as a fiddle and groovy as a cat!" he said, struggling to keep the smile on his face.

"You're sure?" Doris asked calmly, raising an eyebrow.

"Absolutely."

"Well, if that is the case, I have nothing to worry about."

Wonka almost let out a sigh of relief, but restrained himself just in time. He silently thanked the heavens that she had dropped the subject. "Well, ta-ta then Doris, I'll see you another time."

His secretary dipped her head, "Goodbye then," she walked towards the door, still clutching the pile of paper, "by the way," she called, stretching her voice out as loud as it could go, "I'm booking you an appointment with your psychiatrist at 3:00 this afternoon. Perhaps, you'd rather tell him instead of me." She smiled deviously at him and the door clanged behind her.

Wonka froze in shock, his face blank, it was like looking at a black and white photograph- The little colour he had in his face had drained completely away. A single thought ran though his head- had they found out? It was clear that Doris knew something was making him so absent-minded lately, but did she know about his forbidden affections for his heir? He bit his lip again, only stopping when he felt a trickle of blood run down his chin. If it was true that Doris knew about his sin, did the others know also? Charlie and his family obviously didn't, otherwise they'd be clattering down to his rooms with torch and wooden stake in hand. But did the Oompa-Loompas know? Now that he thought about it, they had been looking at him a little oddly lately, what they were looking at him for was impossible to tell however; they were incredibly clever and cunning. It was very hard to tell what they were thinking, the only way you'd find out is by asking them yourself, and even then it didn't necessarily mean that they would answer you with anything that made sense.

Wonka's expression soured at the thought of Doris's last words and anger infused his thoughts. 'Who does she think she is to organise an appointment for me?' he thought with great annoyance. 'Damn woman, it's not her place to force me to do anything.' He paced the room, his misery mixing with malice. 'Ever since she's come to the factory, she's done nothing but boss me about, she's always telling me what I can and can't do, I'm sick of it!'

Caught up in his anger, a quiet voice that was his conscience spoke to him. _She does it for your own good you know,_ it 's anger softened after that and he realised it was right, Doris wasn't trying to hurt him, she was worried for him.

'Besides' he thought, climbing back into his bed, 'she won't get any information from me by using my psychiatrist- George doesn't speak English!' Indeed, it was true. For many years ago, when Wonka had fallen into a slump, Doris, who had been one of the first Oompa-Loompas to move into the factory and had gotten to know him incredibly well over the years, had forced him to get psychiatrist, threatening him that she would tell the other Oompa-Loompas about where the cocoa beans were kept if he refused. He had argued for many days and many nights over it and the decision that they had finally agreed on was that he would get a psychiatrist, but he would pick an Oompa-Loompa from the factory to do it. Wonka being Wonka however purposely picked one of the tribesmen who still couldn't speak nor understand English.

He chuckled to himself. 'I'm such a genius,' he thought. Deciding his work could wait until later, and exhausted from his thoughts, he pulled the blankets over himself and quickly fell asleep.

Several hours later his eyelids fluttered open again, he vaguely wondered what the time was. He distantly remembered that he had dreamt something, but the details were now lost to him. He clambered out of bed, yawning and gazing blearily at the antique clock on the wall. 2:26, it read. He smiled at his own good timing and proceeded to straighten out his clothes and put his shoes back on, lastly putting on his hat, which had been placed for safe keeping on the drawer.

After that, he strode out of the room and was happy to find the Elevator working. 'I guess they were tall enough after all,' he thought absently. He stepped in and delicately pressed the button to his office. He always had his psychiatry sessions there, not wanting to waste a room when it could be used for chocolate-the office was big enough for it anyway, since Wonka disliked working in small places. The Elevator whooshed slantways and shortly came to a stop. He walked out into a short corridor and went into his office. He looked around; expecting to see George, but what he did see was enough to frighten a dragon away. It was Doris, standing by the window, a venomous expression on her face.

"So…" she said in a dangerously low voice, "so…"

Anger shined in her eyes and Wonka, bizzarely, felt a little afraid, he had only seen her like this once before- and it was for a truly grave situation. "What's the matter Doris?" He asked in an uncharacteristically shy voice, not wanting to invoke her wrath.

She studied him for a moment, using the quietness to heighten the tension in the room, at last, she spoke. "The matter, Willy, is that I talked with your psychiatrist a few hours ago- Yes, George." Wonka could see she was having a hard time controlling her rage; he clenched his jaw sullenly, understanding he had been found out. He dare not say anything yet though. Doris carried on, "He couldn't speak a word of English, nor understand it. Do not think I am stupid Willy, I understand exactly what you've been doing! You've been sitting in this room for years, talking to someone who doesn't have a clue what you're on about! You even bribed him with Cocoa beans to keep quiet about it! I only just realised now because when I'd discussed it before with him, we'd spoken in Loompa!"

Wonka said nothing in reply, he stood impassively waiting for her to finish.

"All these years I thought I was helping you- wasted! …why?… why did you do it Willy?"

"I don't need any help from anyone else, I can help myself," Wonka said, trying to pull himself up to his full stance, he looked a bit like a rebellious child who'd painted his room black trying to convince his angry –and very short- mother he'd done nothing wrong. He would have looked perfect with a pout on his face.

Doris's eyes flared, "Really?" she said, her voice laced with sarcasm. "Well you've done a damn good job of it so far, haven't you? I don't think you could have said that three years ago when we found you half-dead in your room with your wrists slit!"

Wonka stumbled back as if he had been stung, pain forming on his face at her words.

Doris looked ready to carry on her speech, when she noticed her employer's face. She stopped dead in her tracks as she saw the tears that were forming in the corners of Willy's eyes. He almost looked ready to collapse.

"…I'm sorry," he said, his voice as small and un-wonka-ish as was possible, "I really am sorry, I… I'm an awful person Doris. I'm selfish, I don't think about how I'm affecting others with my actions … You're right, I can't help myself, but I'm too scared to ask for it. I'm sorry."

The rage melted from Doris's face and she led him over to one of the seats, tugging him gently by the end of his trousers. She saw he was trembling. "It's okay," she said, "I'm sorry too, I shouldn't have shouted at you like that."

He blinked the unfallen tears from his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. He sat up properly and brushed his hair out of his eyes. He pulled his face back on, and it was as though his moment of weakness had never happened. "It's okay, I deserved it," he said, his voice stony.

"Maybe… But I shouldn't have mentioned the past to you- that was cruel of me."

"It's fine," he said swiftly, looking the other way.

"But I-"

"I said it's alright, so don't worry." He unconsciously rubbed his wrist with a gloved hand. "The past is still there, whether it's mentioned or not." A few minutes of silence passed and both sides collected themselves.

"Who's going to be my new psychiatrist then?" Wonka asked finally.

"I will be," said Doris, "is that okay?"

"Yeah… It's fine."

"Very well, are you ready to begin the session then?" Doris asked, her calm self again.

"…Yes. Please, go ahead."


	8. Chapter 8

_Chapter VIII- Who's Coming to the Rescue?_

_Tick…tock…tick…tock…_

The cuckoo clock in Wonka's office seemed far louder than usual in the oppressive situation both occupants had entered into, and what had been a quiet background noise now became a constant annoyance that rang in Wonka's ears. Doris's cunning, calculating eyes pieced his as she locked him in her gaze and opened her mouth to speak. "Have you been feeling any stress lately Willy?" She said, "Overworking yourself perhaps?"

"Nah, of course not, I'm fine- I've been a bit lazy lately, to be honest," plastic lips said, forming a smile.

"Oh, really? Maybe something has been distracting you from your work?" Doris said politely.

Hands gripped the sides of his seat tighter as he struggled to maintain his smile, "No, no, no—I've just been a little tired lately, that's all."

"Ah, I see- is that perhaps why you haven't been working with little Charlie lately? Usually you spend most of the weekend working on things together; I've barely seen you two with one another for the last few days though."

"…Well, yes, that's partly right, I have been very tired lately. But I also thought he could do with a break as well, Mrs Bucket tells he's got exams coming up soon, and you know these schools, they put ever so much pressure on the students, squash out all the creativity like a giant mince meat machine," Wonka rambled.

"Yes, I know how you feel about schools Willy," She leaned forward, moving in for the kill, "are you sure… that it's not because you're avoiding him?"

Wonka felt his clenched hands become slippery, "Of course not," he said. "Why would I do sumthin' that?"

Doris looked her employer in the eye, "Perhaps," she said, almost in amusement, "it's because you are afraid of your feelings of attraction towards him."

Wonka stared at her like a horrified child whose mother has found out he's raided the cookie jar and eaten every last single one. He tried to say something, but found his mouth numb. "I…" he said after a few moments of silence, "that's not true, it's all wrong."

"Now, now Willy- both you and me know you're lying."

Willy lowered his head in defeat, "How many of the others-?"

"Quite a good number. I would say half of the Oompa-Loompas know, perhaps more."

'That would explain how they've been looking at me…' thought Wonka, his heart sinking. "What… What about-"

"Nope. Neither Charlie nor his family have realised, that at least you should be thankful for. You tall people aren't as perceptive as us, and you did a reasonably good job of hiding it, still, suppressing ones feelings like that isn't good for you- you could have had another breakdown."

"Well what could I have done?" Wonka mumbled childishly.

"Talked to us, you silly fool!"

"But it's… not normal."

"Of course it isn't normal. But I'm not having history repeat itself because of this. We can darn well do something about it."

_Knock! Knock!_

Two sharp taps hit the door and Wonka- heavily relieved at the interruption- called "Come in!"

Inside a smallish Oompa-Loompa stepped, "Mr Wonka!" he said in a rather small squeaky and panicked voice, "Mr Wonka, there's been an explosion in the chocolate fudge room!"

Wonka stood and fixed his tilted hat into proper position, "Is anyone hurt?" he asked the young Oompa-Loompa.

"No sir, they're just very chocolaty. But the chocolate keeps flowing from the pipe and it'll all be wasted if we don't fix it immediately! We've tried to turn it off, but the explosion must have damaged the control panel!"

"Okay, lead the way," he started towards the door following the little person.

"Willy…" Doris said in annoyance. Wonka said nothing, opting instead for silence as he walked out of the room, very glad to be away. She probably expected him to return afterwards… 'Fat chance of that happening!' For Wonka was already making up his escape plan, and in his mind, he knew there would be no way she'd manage to corner him like that again.

Back inside the office, Doris tapped her pen irritably against the desk_, _her master plan ruined.

x

Charlie lay in his grandparents' bed, in between Grandpa Joe and Grandma Josephine, the covers pulled right up to his chin. Grandma Georgina and Grandpa George lay opposite and his mother was sure to be some place near by.

"Charlie!" Mrs Bucket called from inside the other room, proving this a true statement. "Do you want some stew?"

"Um… I don't know…" Charlie said softly, watching as his mother's head appear around the doorway.

"It'll make you big and strong," she said, trying to convince him of her stew's magical power.

"It's not cabbage, is it?" asked Charlie, wrinkling his nose at the awful word.

"No, no. It's one hundred percent not cabbage."

"What is it then?"

"It's got lots of good stuff in it. Carrots and barley, potatoes- Oh! And lamb too."

"Um… Well okay then. But not too many carrots please, I don't like them very much." He wrinkled his nose at the thought of them.

Mrs Bucket grinned, her head disappearing from the doorway. Charlie then moved his own to see out the window, it was as beautiful as usual in the Chocolate Room, though it was starting to get dark, so everything was not as colourful as normal. The lights in the room were set to change as the sun outside did, and when it became dark outside, it became dark inside also. It was just one of Wonka's many little ideas for the room he'd come up with when the family moved in. Mrs Bucket returned with a steaming bowl of stew in her hands, she rushed over, muttering "Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!" and put it in Charlie's lap. "Don't touch the bowl yet, its very hot," she warned.

He looked down at his dinner sitting haphazardly in his lap, "There's carrots," he said disappointedly, pouting.

"They're good for you!" she replied, ending his small protest.

"Two years ago you just would have been happy it wasn't cabbage." Grandpa Joe said in his old voice.

"Thank God it isn't," said the grumpy Grandpa George, "I can die happy now I know my last meal won't be cabbage."

Taking things a little too literally, Charlie's eyes went wide at his grandfather's words. "You're not going to die soon, are you Grandpa George?" he said in a panicked tone.

Grandpa George waved his hands frantically, as if casting off the thought. "No, no! It was a joke, you're not getting rid of my that easily. Gosh boy, you do take things a little too seriously sometimes, calm down already."

Charlie flushed, "Sorry," he said.

Mrs Bucket put her hand on Charlie's shoulder, "Go easy on him George," she said. "He's still recovering from today at school."

"I'm fine," said Charlie defiantly.

Mrs Bucket ruffled her son's sepia coloured hair, "Of course you are dear,"

"Is Dad going to be home soon?" Charlie said, trying to change the subject to something less embarrassing.

"He should be home any moment now."

"I thought his job ended at four today?"

"He said he wanted to pick up some mechanical books from the library after work."

"What does he want those for?" croaked Grandma Josephine.

"He's starting to think of a career beyond fixing machines at the toothpaste factory," said Mrs Bucket, "I think he'd like to be a proper mechanic. He sure likes fiddling with things here enough."

"He always did when he was a kid," Joe said, laughing "'cept he had a knack at blowing them up as well. I hope he's drastically improved if he's going to be a mechanic."

"…Well, he's reading up on it, so hopefully he'll know what he's doing," Mrs Bucket said, contorting her lips.

A glint of metal outside the window distracted Charlie from the conversation and he watched as many Oompa-Loompas carried past a large piece of pipe, hurrying as fast as their small legs and the heavy pipe would allow. Charlie wondered what they were doing. When they had disappeared from view Charlie voiced this query, "Where are those Oompa-Loompas going?"

"What Oompa-Loompas?" asked his mother, who hadn't been facing the window.

"There was a whole bunch of them, with a big slice of pipe… Mr Wonka said one of the Oompa-Loompa's had reported a leak in the pipe that went through one of the fudge rooms a few days ago, I hope there hasn't been an accident- they did seem to be hurrying an awful lot. What if the pipe burst?" he said, almost to himself. He paused, "I better go over there and see if I can help." Charlie was half way through moving his barely touched stew off his lap when Mrs Bucket stopped him with a firm look.

"Charlie... you should be resting. I'm sure Willy can handle it on his own. He's a grown man… Well, he doesn't act like it much sometimes, but he knows what he's doing at least."

Charlie uneasily shifted back into position, unhappy about the whole affair. He thought about how some of the little workers could be hurt, and how he was just sitting here- eating. He hoped his mentor wasn't in the room if the pipe really did burst, for it was a heavy pipe and would do far more than invoking a simple 'ouch' if it happened to fall on you. That didn't seem very possible, but if the pressure built up so much when it burst, it might knock the pipe out of position and make it fall.

'I hope Mr Wonka is okay…' He thought, swirling his spoon in the stew, brow creasing further and further at the thought of it. Deciding quickly, he moved the bowl aside and jumped out of the bed, hearing an ominous _bo-ong _as he did so. He pulled on his shoes, not bothering to lace them. He heard his mother and grandparents protesting ("You bloody get back here boy," said Grandpa George) but they were already behind him, and soon enough, the other side of the front door. He sprinted quickly across the Chocolate Room to the Elevator, hearing his mother calling for him to come back. However, he paid her no heed, he knew he'd be in serious trouble when he got back, but to him, there were far more pressing matters at hand-

'I have to help Mr Wonka!'

Unfortunately for him the Elevator seemed to think otherwise, considering it wasn't there. Charlie peered both ways along the rail it ran and realized it could be in use anywhere in the massive factory and might take a very long time to get back from wherever it was once it realised Charlie was waiting for it. He weighed his options quickly and set off at a run towards a small door which- like a chameleon- seemed to blend in with the surrounding walls. Finding its location from memory, he pushed it open, as it was free of handles, knobs and all other contraptions. Once again he heard his mother calling, and he passed through inside.

Ahead of him was a staircase, one of the seemingly million staircases in the factory. This one was spiral shaped like the one that led to Wonka's office, he suspected that perhaps this was in fact the same set of stairs; they did seem to go awfully high. He'd been put off by the height before and had only explored the down part of it, which led to, among others, the fudge rooms. His breath a little uneven, he hopped down the steps two at a time, in his mind imagining his Mr Wonka trapped under the massive pipeline, which made him jump three. When he reached a door he finally stopped, almost hopping past it in the hurry he was in.

He wrenched the door open and scurried down the corridor that it led to, now blanking out everything else as he rushed forward. As he approached the door to the General Fudge Room, which made the base ingredients of the fudge so it could be piped off to all the separate flavoured rooms, he stopped. The door was open, and liquid chocolate was pouring out by the gallon. Gingerly continuing down the corridor, Charlie was careful not to slip, but even after these efforts he felt himself sliding and lurched to the wall to steady himself. Once again he tried for the door, holding onto the wall as he went. Despite this however, he managed to fall over no less than six times before he reached the entrance. Drenched in chocolate, he dragged himself through the door, his panic heightening, him fearing the worst.

Inside, a make-shift scaffolding had been assembled by one of the walls, leading high up to the massive pipe overhead which supplied chocolate to many of the surrounding rooms. The pipe looked as though a slice of it was missing, and that section itself could be found on the floor, a giant hole ripped through its outer shell. The Oompa-Loompas must have cut it off so they could replace it, he guessed.

On the swaying scaffolding, many Oompa-Loompas struggled with the new section of pipe he had seen them carrying earlier. They seemed to be trying to fit it into the still gushing chocolate pipe, but were having difficulty due to their small size. Almost comically, he noticed that several of them were balanced on another's shoulders. There was one other, taller figure up there however, taller than the amusing 'tower of Loompa's' he saw. Although very chocolaty, Charlie recognised him in an instant- it was Wonka. He held back a sigh of relief, glad that his mentor was fine. He was helping lifting the pipe too, but even with Wonka's help, they still didn't seem to be having any luck.

Eying the wooden structure they stood on warily, Charlie began to climb, feeling the ladder wobbling under his feet. He felt incredibly nervous doing this, but he couldn't just stand down there doing nothing, he was Mr Wonka's heir after all, so he might as well start acting like one and be useful. The memories of the past few days melted away and he sprang into action once more.

Willy Wonka felt his muscles strain as he and the-Oompa-Loompas attempted to fix the pipe in place again, this time was their third attempt and he knew his little helpers surely must be getting tired by now- he certainly knew he was. The pipe was metal, round, and very hard to get a grip on, and this wasn't helped by the fact liquid chocolate splashed down around them as they attempted to lift it. Common sense would have been to turn the whole mechanism off before they tried this, but Lady Luck didn't seem to be on Wonka's side today, and like the child Loompa had said, the explosion caused by the burst in the pipe seemed to have somehow damaged the control panel, and typically, the on/off switch. If they had more time they could have constructed some sort of lifting device for the pipe, but they didn't have time for that, enough chocolate had been wasted while the Oompa-Loompas had brought in the disassembled wooden structure that had been used in past emergencies and put it together again.

The tribesmen and Wonka pushed hard on the smooth cylinder, their muscles and backs straining under the hefty weight.

_Thump!_

It fell back onto the scaffolding, causing it to shake as a shockwave pulsed through, almost knocking Charlie off the ladder. He hung on with one hand, terrified, and swung himself back on using momentum, beginning to climb again.

Panting, Wonka wiped his hands on his coat, trying to get off some of the chocolate that were making his gloves become slippery, but since his coat was just as dirty, that didn't really work. After a second's consideration, he surrendered and pulled the gloves off, stowing them in his pockets. He felt a little unprotected without them, but they wouldn't do here.

A rather brown looking person climbing up the scaffolding caught Wonka's attention and he turned his head just in time to see Charlie scampering up the framework and clamber out onto the top. Seeming out of breath, Charlie stuttered out, "Mr- Mr Wonka! I'm here!"

Wonka smiled faintly, tired from the lifting, "Hello my dear boy, now, could you please lend us a hand? This is very heavy." Charlie nodded furiously, eager to show he was willing to help. He rushed over to Wonka, stumbling a little from trying not to step on an Oompa-Loompa, and gripped his hands round the pipe. "Everyone ready?" called Wonka, trying to gather his strength.

Many tiny voices, plus Charlie's chorused; "Yes!" Charlie bent his knees, preparing himself for the extreme weight.

"Okay! Push!" Everyone lifted the pipe into the air slowly, pushing it closer and closer to the empty gap in the existing pipeline. Their progress was hindered by the fact that the flowing chocolate was bouncing against the metal they were lifting and spraying in their faces, temporarily blinding them. Charlie meanwhile, felt his arm muscles aching under the weight- he couldn't hold it much longer. With one final burst of energy, he pushed as hard as he could, the others doing the same, as they shoved it into place. Other Oompa-Loompas (some sitting on top of the remaining pipe) started welding it, joining the bits together. They worked with superhuman speed and Wonka, Charlie and the team of tribesmen didn't have to support it for long, for which they were grateful. When it was completely fixed in place, Wonka put down his arms, pulled down his sleeves and stretched out, aching all over. Seeing that it was all being taken care of up here, he headed down the ladder, his heir trailing after, the Oompa-Loompas almost disassembling the scaffolding as they went.

When they reached the safety of the floor, Wonka took a seat on one of the many contraptions in the room and got his breath back. Charlie headed over to him, doing the same, as his mentor pulled out the now-brown gloves from his spoiled pockets and pulled them on, careful to keep the underside of his hands facing down. Charlie didn't realise he'd taken them off, but he was so chocolaty he wouldn't have noticed anyway, he was encrusted with the stuff. He thought putting the gloves on again seemed a bit pointless, it would only make them dirty on the inside also, but Mr Wonka was Mr Wonka, he supposed. He certainly looked funny; he was covered almost entirely with chocolate, just like one of those hollow chocolate people and animals you could buy.

"You look like a chocolate Wonka," said Charlie, unable to restrain himself and his comments.

Wonka looked up and smiled mischievously, "Try looking at yourself, you're a chocolate Charlie- You look positively eatable."

Charlie blushed, glad of the brown sloppy coating on his cheeks that hid it, "Did you find out why the pipe burst?" he asked after a moment. "One of the Oompa-Loompas reported a leak in the pipe around here a few days ago, didn't they?"

Running his hand through his hair tiredly, Wonka said; "Yah, they did. I was a fool not to look into it more closely. I think the problem was that some of the chocolate had thickened and clogged, sorta' like custard, which caused a blockage in the line and made the pressure build up. Still, there's plenty more chocolate where this came from! We'll make some more up soon enough, don'cha worry," he gestured at the brown liquid that was turning slightly sludgy at their ankles.

"I think I really will turn into a chocolate Charlie if I don't wash this off soon," commented Charlie, smiling.

"Go back to your house and wash if you like- ya don't have to stay here. I just need to stay a little longer tah make sure all the Oompa-Loompas know where to put the scaffolding away." Charlie didn't move. "What's it going to be then shorty? If you stay here I might eat you- and I'm afraid the factory would have to get shut down if the press found out I was a cannibal."

"Not if I don't eat you first," said Charlie, playing along. "You're almost completely chocolate-except- for that spot there." Before Wonka could move, Charlie scooped up a handful of sludgy chocolate and hurled it into his mentor's face.

Looking more than a little surprised, Wonka brushed the chocolate off and stared at Charlie with a deadly calm expression. For a moment, the boy wondered if he'd gone too far, but then Wonka's lips quirked into a grin. "You do realize this means war," he said evilly.

Chocolate flew from both sides, and Charlie and Wonka pelted one another without restraint, laughing all the while. Charlie ducked as Wonka threw an especially big handful of chocolate, covering his face with an uplifted arm and shifted round in the sludgy brown stuff- a movement that was becoming steadily difficult in the thickening chocolate. He scooped another lot, and the battle continued.

Several Oompa-Loompas shot quizzical looks at the pair from the almost entirely disassembled scaffolding, but quickly got back to work. While their employer's behaviour was peculiar, they were just glad to see him back in good spirits, though quite a few of them didn't even know why he was so miserable in the first place. They just knew that an unhappy Wonka made some very bad chocolate, and it usually meant they ended up with all sorts of side effects from the tests which had gone amuck.

A well aimed shot at Charlie's chest, directly where his heart would be, ended the fight. Charlie clutched his chest dramatically, put on a comical pained expression and let himself tumble in the sludge in his best heroic death impression. However, he perhaps ruined the effect by peeking one eye open shortly after and grinning. The both laughed heartily and Wonka helped the boy to his feet, offering his hand after only a second's hesitation. Charlie gripped the latex enclosed hand gingerly and Wonka helped pull him to his feet, the boy feeling an unexpected shiver pass through him. He hoped Wonka hadn't noticed.

Flushed from the brief chocolate fight, Charlie surveyed the room, "I better get back now, my Mum'll be having kittens," he said guiltily. "Looks like I'm in for some more close contact of the chocolate kind though, I don't know how many times I fell over on my way here."

"It is rather slippery. I probably should have brought my cane… not that it would have done any good in this mess though, ha!"

"Yeah, it probably wouldn't," they both looked at one another awkwardly, "I should go now. Bye Mr Wonka."

"Wait," Charlie had taken a few careful steps forward when Wonka stopped him, "I'll help you across." Perhaps acting entirely on impulse, Wonka took Charlie's hand once again, slipping his fingers through the boy's smaller ones. "…Wouldn't want you tah slip, you might hurt yourself, it won't be so likely like this… if you don't mind, that is?" he said, a little nervously, as if he'd only just realised what he'd done.

"No,no- it's fine. It'll be a big help, thank you," Charlie said, struggling to keep his own voice normal, since a sudden wave of giddiness had just come over him.

"So," said Wonka, smiling, "let's get truckin' then."

They made their way out the room, hands entwined. And for the first time, neither regretted the close contact.


	9. Chapter 9

_Chapter IX- Sugar Flowers_

Eyes flickering open, Charlie welcomed the new day. After the initial phase of waking was over, when you forget where oneself is and all ones troubles, he smiled. Yesterday, which had started so badly had turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Just thinking about the aftermath of the chocolate explosion filled him with that almost school-girl giddiness that wouldn't leave. The chocolate fight with Wonka was the most fun thing he had done in days- and after that, holding hands with him, it just couldn't be described with words.

x

Charlie and Wonka plodded up the stairs together, weighed down by the coating of chocolate that hung to their clothes. Although they'd left the fudge room long ago they still held hands. Neither of them particularly wanted to let go, and was in no hurry to do so, and in silent agreement they held on. While the hurried journey down to the fudge rooms didn't seem to go quick enough, Charlie found himself thinking the opposite here- he didn't want Wonka to leave. He briefly wondered what he was doing, and what the hell he was thinking, but this was all quickly washed away by another wave of giddiness as Wonka shifted his fingers in Charlie's grasp.

Unfortunately, nothing lasts forever and soon enough they were at the top of the stairs, Wonka was pulling his hands from Charlie's and pushing open the door. Charlie looked over the Chocolate Room disappointedly; it was only a short dream. As they crossed the meadow of swuldge Charlie began to worry a little about what his parents would do when he got back to the house- for Mr Bucket was sure to be back by now, and is with many other families the father is always the one to mete out punishment. He decided to voice his concerns to Wonka. "Do you think Mum'll kill me for getting chocolate all over my clothes Mr Wonka?"

The said person glanced over them and whistled ominously, "Chocolate is very hard to get out, believe me, I know from personal experience," he paused. "But I'm sure she'll understand, you were only helping me, and it's not as though you went swimming in the chocolate river for a lark or anything."

"Yeah… maybe. I reckon she'll still be mad though. I… uh, wasn't really allowed out of the house, even to come and help you. So I kinda'… ran off," he said sheepishly.

Still walking with the boy, Wonka stopped abruptly, "You disobeyed your mother… for me?" he asked in a stunned voice, knowing how Charlie hardly ever went against his parents wishes.

"Um, yeah," Charlie said, stopping as well.

Wonka grinned widely, "I knew you were my heir from the moment I saw you," and he ruffled Charlie's hair affectionately, setting forth again. "Don't worry kiddo, I'll explain what happened, and if they still want tah punish you for getting your clothes dirty, well then, I'll just tell them I pushed you in the chocolate river. They'll have to punish me then- if they can," he said with a wink, putting what was left of Charlie's worries to rest. The boy laughed, seeing a mental image of Wonka pushing him into the river and laughing evilly, all in cartoon style.

Walking up to the door with his mentor, Charlie hesitantly opened it, peeking inside, and feeling some of his nervousness come back. His mother and father were both there, facing the other way. Charlie was trying to resist the urge to shut the door and run in the opposite direction- a feeling he'd had a lot lately. Wonka however was having none of that, he opened the door the whole way and called aloud; "Package for Mr and Mrs Bucket! Did either of you order a chocolate Charlie?"

The two Buckets turned around to their very embarrassed son and their eyes widened at the sight of him and Wonka. "Certainly not," said Mrs Bucket, surprised, "I think I ordered just a regular Charlie."

Mr Bucket shook his head in exasperation, "What happened to you two? Did one of the machines blow up or something?"

"Actually, it was the chocolate pipe," said Wonka nonchalantly.

"Oh I see," said Mr Bucket, as if that sort of thing happened every day.

"Um…" Charlie began, looking up at his mother, "sorry I went off without your permission Mum, but I needed to help Mr Wonka- and we had to lift this pipe- and they were having trouble- and…" he rambled nervously.

Mrs Bucket studied her son, who was currently fiddling again with the hem of his jumper, "It's alright," she sighed at last, "but really, what's with you running off these days? I shall have to keep you on a leash from now on."

"I couldn't' have fixed it without him," Wonka piped in, raising a finger.

So Charlie was forgiven and sent to the bathroom to clean up (and told if he got the bathtub dirty he'd be back in there with a scrub-brush) as Wonka went back to his own quarters to wash, bemoaning the possible loss of his clothes.

When Charlie was chocolate-free and clean he sat down in front of the fire to dry, wrapped up in a big towel. Not that a fire was really necessary in the warm climate Wonka kept the factory in, even in winter ("His heating bills must be tremendous," Mr Bucket often remarked,) But Grandpa Joe often said he found a fire relaxing, and many of the others agreed. Soon after, Mrs Bucket came over to sit next to her son, and he smiled in greeting.

"Charlie," she said softly, so the others in the house wouldn't hear her, "I know this has been said to you before… but are you alright? So much has happened in the past few days, it's been crazy. What with your…Little roof visit, school today, and now this."

Charlie realised she didn't know the half of what was going on, but that was fine; mothers didn't have to know everything, after all. But he smiled at her anyway. "It's fine Mum, I'm happy." And he found those words were the truth.

x

"Happy…" Charlie whispered, sitting up in his bed, that smile still on his face. He felt as though the haze that had wrapped him tightly had now dissipated, now, looking out his window he could see the true and entire beauty of the Chocolate Room, unclouded by his troubles. He'd also come to some sort of decision about Wonka, it was wrong how he felt about him- but- what did it matter? He'd forgotten how much he liked spending time with his friend, he liked being with him, it made him happy. He just hadn't realised how happy until now. So he'd just take things as they came- for the moment at least.

Throwing the covers off him eagerly, Charlie prepared for the new day. He put on his casual clothes, or 'play clothes' as his mother had embarrassingly called them since he was young. He climbed down the ladder, jumping the three last rungs. "Morning Mum! Morning Dad!" he greeted his parents cheerfully, as they said hello back. He said good morning to each of his grandparents, finding Grandpa Joe in the kitchen making toast. "You look well today Grandpa," Charlie said.

"Thank you Charlie," said Grandpa Joe, "I am feeling rather well, you seem to be too. I'm glad you've cheered up," he commented, noticing the wide grin on the boy's face. "But why are you in those clothes? It's Tuesday, isn't it?"

Charlie's face wilted, "Oh… whoops," he said, "I forgot it was school." With a much more solemn expression he climbed back to his room to get on his school uniform, very much disappointed. He was looking forward to spending the day with Wonka, instead- he sighed- it was off to school with him, and no doubt Martin would be there causing as much grief as he possibly could. Charlie's heart sunk further. Still, Sam and Rowan would be there, and the latter of those two was going though exactly the same thing as he was.

As it turned out, Charlie managed to avoid Martin for most of the day as he was in different classes from in him all their lessons- except for science of course, which thankfully they didn't have on Tuesday. Martin and his friends did manage to catch up with them at lunch time though, as he, Sam and Rowan sat under the leafless pear tree in the courtyard. They came up to Charlie and his friends, sidling in like they didn't notice them, and then, in a mock surprised voice Martin said; "Oh my! I'm sorry; I didn't see you all there! I didn't mean to disturb your **date**!"

"Shove off Martin," said Sam, sick of the bully mocking his friends.

"Is this date some kind of threesome?" asked Martin slyly, "or are you just here to take the pictures, y'know, for an X rated website?"

Before things started to get hairy, miraculously, Mr Turkentine strolled in, "Hello there boys," he said, and turned to address Martin only. "Wonderful, I was just looking for someone reliable to deliver a message for me. Martin, could you head over to the new maths block, you know, the one on the other side of the school, and tell the teacher in M21 that she'll be covering for Mrs Farfetch in lesson six? The poor lady has gone home sick and we need someone to teach her English class."

Martin gave Mr Turkentine a sulky look and said, "Fine," knowing there was no way out of it without a very good excuse. He turned away, his friends tailing after.

Once out of earshot Rowan said, "I didn't think there was a M21 sir."

"There isn't. But he don't know that." He gave them all a playful wink and headed off whistling.

Sam shook his head, "Stark raving bonkers."

"He did just save our butts though," said Charlie.

"Let 'em try!" said Sam furiously, "Let 'em try!

The school day passed pretty much uneventfully after that, though Charlie thought he heard some wolf whistles directed at him in the corridor. Quickly, but not quickly enough for Charlie the day ended and he was soon walking back home to the factory, waving goodbye to Rowan and Sam. He came round the back entrance as he had always done since about a year ago, when a curious girl of five followed him through the front gate and almost got into the factory. Wonka had suggested they put lasers by the front gate to zap any unwelcome guests, but Charlie- waving his hands frantically- had said he'd just take the back entrance.

He wondered where Wonka would be this time of day, and decided the Inventing Room would be his best bet. Even if he wasn't there he could always ask one of the Oompa-Loompas since there were usually some busying themselves in something there.

Wonka was there as he thought he would be, rushing around quite animatedly. For a moment Charlie thought something was wrong, then he realized his mentor was just excited. He headed over to him, looking around curiously to see if he could spot the source of it. It was then Wonka noticed him, and the man ran up to Charlie and grasped his hands with excitement, "Charlie! It's finished!" he said quickly, happily. "I'd hoped you would come, do you want to see?"

With a mental snap Charlie realised what Wonka babbling on about, "The Bubbletastic Balls?" he asked.

"Of course! What else? Come, come now- I'll show you them, try one." He grabbed Charlie's wrist and rushed him over to a tray resting on top of a loudly humming machine, on it were several round balls, like Malteasers except bigger, like gobstoppers except smaller. Each one had the two curly W's that made up the inventor's initials.

Looking at the balls a little hesitantly, Charlie asked, "You've ran out all the tests? It won't send me to the ceiling like that Oompa Loompa?"

"No, no. Don't worry, it works perfectly now, I've tested it myself."

"The problem last time was that you made it too strong, right?"

"Yup! …I should have known I put too much soap in that one…" he said absently.

"Mr Wonka!"

He giggled, "Only kidding my boy, only kidding. Now c'mon, don't keep me waiting, try one and tell me what you think."

Not entirely convinced Wonka didn't slip some soap in when they were making the balls and working out the quantities of the ingredients, he picked one up and hesitantly popped it into his mouth. It didn't taste like soap, he thought, just chocolate. Nice chocolate- but that was to be expected, it was Wonka's. When he'd chewed and swallowed it he stood still, expecting bubbles to come spraying from his nose or mouth. When nothing happened, he looked at Wonka and said "It's not working," or rather, he would have done, but instead bubbles came flying out of his mouth and he laughed- which made even more.

Wonka grinned; pleased with his work and happy Charlie liked it. After about ten minutes when the bubbles had worn off and he could speak again Charlie said, "It's really good Mr Wonka, other kids will love it, and parents might too, since it keeps them quiet for a while."

"Its gunna be a big hit- we did a great job partner, now gimme a high five!" he raised his hand, though not too high, since Charlie might not be able to reach, and the boy slapped his hand. "If we start production of these immediately, all going well, they'll be in the shops with the month!" he said excitedly.

"We'd better get going then!" said Charlie, the mood infecting him as well.

"Right, I'll go and inform the Oompa-Loompas to rig the machines ready for them, we'll need to design the packaging and oh! There's so much to do!"

The week passed in a similar cycle. Charlie would go to school, avoid Martin (or at least try to) and come home, head straight to Wonka- where both would work their socks off preparing for the new product. Despite this Charlie never complained, the time he spent with Wonka was the best part of the day, neither of them could contain their excitement for the near completion of the Bubbletastic Balls.

"He's like a big kid in a big candy shop," Mrs Bucket remarked in amusement one day.

"The biggest candy shop in the world!" Charlie had replied.

Of course, there was the little matter that Charlie couldn't as much as go near the man without wanting to touch him, without wanting for the man to hold him, one day in the Inventing Room when Wonka had leaned down to look in a vat, Charlie had wondered in that brief moment what it would be like to kiss him. Would Wonka be any good at it? Would **he **be any good at it? What would Wonka have done if Charlie had leaned over in that instant and pressed his lips on the man's? He'd thought about it all day after that, until Grandpa George had told him to "Wipe that silly fool smile off your face!"

School was a different subject all together, as a typical child, he'd never much liked school anyway, he didn't have very many friends when he was at primary school, and he was often lonely in the playground. Now he had Rowan and Sam, but he had Martin too, who was being as much of a nuisance as ever, unrelenting in his attempts to drive the boys, especially Rowan, to misery. On Thursday he managed to find all three of them together again, standing inside dawdling by the corridors since it was cold outside. He set a beeline for them, walking over in his airy mocking way. They noticed he had his friends with him again like he always did, and Charlie was reminded of the groups of thugs that wandered the streets at night, beating up girls and stealing old ladies' handbags.

"Hello Sam, Charlie, Rowan," he said, nodding to each one in turn, "you guys still planning the wedding? Which one of you will wear the dress, Charlie, or Rowan? I'm guessing it's going to be Rowan."

Sam, always quick to temper, looked ready to pounce, Charlie glared at Martin, and Rowan, who usually ended up bearing the brunt of Martin's malicious verbal assaults looked angrier than Charlie had ever seen. The bully looked oddly pleased with this.

"Hello-o!" Cried a familiar voice, and Charlie's mouth dropped as Mr Turkentine strode once again towards them.

'Is he following me or something?' he wondered.

"There you are Martin! I was just looking for you! I need someone to deliver another message for me; I was hoping you could do it," said Mr Turkentine cheerfully.

"The last room you sent me to didn't exist, sir," Martin said, pronouncing his 'sir' like it was some kind of hateful insect, "there is no M21."

"M21? No, of course not, I never sent you to M21, I sent you to M16. Better clean your ears Martin, to think, Mrs Farfetch's class had no teacher… there was probably a riot there. You'll just have to do better this time- now listen. Go over to the music rooms and find Mr Stone, tell him I found his car keys and I've left them in the office with Miss Porter." Looking dubious, Martin nodded and walked off.

"Does Mr Stone exist sir?" asked Charlie.

"Oh yes, he exists. But he hasn't lost his keys. The man's in a bad state today, Toodles, his pet gerbil died, and he could use a shoulder to cry on. I'm sure Martin will fulfil that role wonderfully."

"Oh…" said Charlie, unsure of what to say.

"Well, I must get on, see you later boys- toodles! Oh… mustn't say that to Stone…"

After a moment of silence, Sam shook his head, "I know I've said this before, but that man is-"

"Stark raving bonkers," finished Charlie.

"I swear he's stalking us," said Sam.

"Knowing Mr Turkentine…" Rowan said, calm now, "he probably is," and they all laughed.

The following afternoon Charlie headed straight to the Inventing Room as was becoming normal. But to his surprise, Wonka wasn't there. He wondered if the man might be taking a rest, they _had _been working very hard this week, Wonka even more so, since he was at work while Charlie was at school, supervising the production of the Bubbletastic Balls and filling out the paperwork so he could sell them.

So instead he headed to the Chocolate Room, thinking to see his parents. He hadn't spoken with them much in the last few days, except in the evenings and by then he was too tired to say much. As soon as he stepped into the room he heard voices- were his parents outside? He followed the two voices, for he realised there were two, to the chocolate river, finding his father and Wonka sat on the swuldge conversing.

"-And so once I sign up for the course and- hopefully- pass I'll be a fully trained mechanic. I'm thinking of working self-employed, you know, putting up little signs in shop windows saying 'fix it with Bucket' or something like that," his father was telling the chocolatier enthusiastically, holding a piece of paper with typed print on it.

Charlie walked up to the pair, "Hi Dad, hi Mr Wonka," he said.

"Hullo there Charlie," said Wonka from down on the edible grass, "take a seat, your Dad was just telling me about the course he's planning on taking down at the college." Although Wonka's voice sounded normal, Charlie could instantly tell from his mentor's posture that the man was bored stiff- he'd known him for too long it seemed. He decided to save Wonka, and sat down between the two men.

"I thought you were a bit old to go to school again Dad," Charlie said.

Mr Bucket laughed, "The college does classes for adults Charlie,"

"I don't see why anyone would want to go back to school… or college, which is pretty much the same thing," said Charlie, wrinkling his nose like there was a big fat carrot in front of him.

Amused, Mr Bucket said, "I quite liked school when I was young, we used to have marble tournaments at lunch times. You'd play it by throwing your marbles into a circle like this," he demonstrated with his hand, "excellent times… excellent times…"

Not entirely convinced that sounded very fun, Charlie merely nodded. "I don't like school though," he said.

"That boy still giving you jip?" asked his father, as though reading Charlie's mind.

Charlie shrugged, "I suppose so."

"Your mother said she talked with your teacher and he'd agreed to keep an eye out for you," Mr Bucket commented thoughtfully.

Charlie let out a small "Oh…" now realising the reason Mr Turkentine always seemed to be following them, "We thought he was stalking us," he said laughing.

"Who's stalking you?" said Wonka, jumping back into the conversation with a jolt, he seemed to have been sitting in a complete daze before.

"A giant mutant rabbit, Mr Wonka," said Charlie seriously.

"Oh my," he said, "how dreadful."

Snickering, the boy waved his hands dismissively, "No one's stalking us, we just thought Mr Turkentine was since every time Martin comes over he runs in and makes an excuse that sends Martin halfway over the school to deliver a phoney message."

"Sounds like he's looking out for you," said Mr Bucket.

"I guess so!" said Charlie cheerfully.

"You're lucky to have such a nice teacher," said Wonka, "all the teachers at my school were old fuddy-duddies who punished you for putting one teeny tiny toe out of line. The children there were just as bad though."

"Did they tease you as well?" Charlie enquired.

Wonka scratched his chin, looking uncomfortable, "I had braces back then, big braces, and even as an adult, if you're different from everybody else, you're not accepted."

"So they were mean to you?" repeated Charlie, as the man hadn't really answered the question.

Wonka coughed, "Sorry Charlie, I didn't hear you- I think I must have too much fluff in my ear…" he twisted his little finger round in his ear, trying to dig out the stuff.

Mr Bucket gave Charlie an amused look, he stood up, still holding the piece of paper that Charlie realised now must be an application form for the college. "I'm going to go inside the house now, I have to fill this out, you coming Charlie? Or do you want to stay with Willy a bit longer?"

The boy deliberated, though he found there wasn't much to deliberate, "I'll stay with Mr Wonka a little longer." Mr Bucket nodded and walked through the swuldge towards the house, but then stopped, and turned back.

"I almost forgot, the wife says we're having spaghetti tonight, she asked if you'd like to join us Willy. She says she hasn't seen you for a few days since you've been so busy."

Inclining his head, Wonka said, "I'd love to," Mr Bucket ginned and then set off once again."He's very excited about becoming a mechanic," he added, watching the other man enter into the house.

"I don't blame him; I don't think I'd like to spend my entire life working in a toothpaste factory either. It's sounds re-eally boring."

"It probably is, he should have become a chocolatier like me- wait, maybe not… that means more competition," he narrowed his eyes comically, shifting them either way spying out the competition.

"So what did you come down here for Mr Wonka? I thought you'd be in the Inventing Room, but you weren't, so I gathered you were having a rest and came here."

"Well I was waiting for you of course," said Wonka, as though it was the most obvious thing ever.

"Waiting for me?" Charlie asked, nonplussed.

"Yes, to show you- oh! I haven't shown it you yet! What a silly Willy I am! Come over and see this Charlie," he bounced over to the other side of the chocolate river across the bridge to some large mushrooms, Charlie following. He leaned down by a leafy plant partially shaded by the mushrooms and pointed to it. His apprentice crouched down, a little confused to what the fuss was about and took a closer look. It didn't seem to be anything special, just a mass of leaves and a few unopened flower heads nestled within them. Then it struck him.

"I've never seen flowers in the room before," he said.

"Just touch one," whispered Wonka, beaming. So Charlie reached out and poked the side of a flower gently and quickly drew his hand back, gasping. It was like one of those nature programs they showed on television, where they film a flower and speed the tape up so it blooms and opens in just a few seconds. The open flower was a cute white shade, with a few flecks of pink and a middle of yellow. "It's a Christmas rose," Wonka said proudly.

"I didn't think roses bloomed in winter," said Charlie.

"These are Christmas roses- a different type. These ones do bloom in winter," and with that, he picked one, the largest, and held it out to his heir. Charlie blushed furiously, the idea of his mentor offering him a flower, and a romantic one at that- the rose- was almost too much for him. He was feeling giddy again. Wonka however, had a rather disappointed look on his face, "Don't you want to try it?" he said a little sadly.

Realising what a fool he'd just been, Charlie hastily took the flower from Wonka. It was candy of course, for a moment he had somehow got it in his head that they were real flowers, and that Wonka was offering him a real rose. However, he was merely asking the boy to taste it, he'd never be lucky enough to be given a real one- only in his dreams perhaps.

These thoughts were completely dismissed when he tasted it though, "Mnn!" he said approvingly, "White chocolate… and a little strawberry! Wow, that's amazing Mr Wonka, how'd you manage to get it to look so real and taste so good, or open on it's own like that?"

Wonka giggled with appreciation, "The stalk and all the leaves are all edible too, and they're made of sugar."

Charlie tried some, "So they are."

"You like it then?" asked Wonka eagerly, and Charlie nodded.

"It's really good," he commented, "But why use these roses? I thought people liked the look of normal roses best? You know, the ones you see given on Valentines Day and stuff like that? Or did you want to use these since the others don't bloom in winter?"

"Pretty much, but I like these, or any wild roses better than the cultivated sort. Not that I don't find them attractive, but I don't think people should interfere with things like that- nature is nature's business. Wild roses are so much purer." Charlie blinked, never expecting such meaningful words to come out of Wonka. It seemed he was finding new sides to the man every day.

"So… cultivated roses are made by people, right?" enquired Charlie, wondering just how much his mentor knew about botany.

"Yeah, they're hybrids, wild roses bred with other flowers to make the rose you 'see on Valentines day and stuff like that' I don't know the technical stuff behind it though."

They talked for a while after that, staying on the topic of flowers for a while, before switching to some of the ideas they'd been contemplating over the last few days. Charlie didn't know how long they talked, but it must have been a while, since Mrs Bucket came out while they were still jabbering on about all the different types of edible flower they could make.

"Dinner time Charlie!" she called from the open door of the house, "you too Willy!"

Charlie jumped up from his seat on the squashed swuldge, running ahead and shouting, "Yippee! Spaghetti!" Wonka walked over a bit more reservedly, but not by much. They all took at seat at the large table, talking and laughing, helping Grandpa George and Grandpa Josephine whose legs were a bit weak to their seats. Mrs Bucket dished out the spaghetti with a meat sauce she'd cooked up herself onto the warm plates and handed them out to everyone at the table, most of whom looking quite ravenous, sniffing the wafting smells with dreamy looks on their faces. When everyone had a plate and Mrs Bucket herself was sat down they thanked her and began to eat, murmuring approving noises at their chef.

The next few days passed like a blur to Charlie, each full of good memories. Charlie only wished it didn't all go so fast. He felt like he was on a speeding train to a location no one knew, along smooth tracks through calm air. But on Monday, there was a definite bump on the rails.


	10. Chapter 10

_Chapter X- Down for the Count_

It was breezy outside that day. The winter sun, low in the sky, was bright but despite that didn't produce a very large amount of heat, leaving the three boys walking down the street feeling decidedly chilly. It was after three and they were all heading back home from school, chattering as they went. To all their relief Martin hadn't bothered them today, he hadn't even tried approaching them. "Maybe he's given up?" Charlie had said earlier in the afternoon.

"Perhaps," Sam had replied, "or maybe he's just gotten sick of being sent over the entire school to deliver messages to non-existent teachers!" Still, it had seemed a bit strange to them, and even then Charlie got an ominous feeling in his gut.

"You know," said Rowan thoughtfully as they walked, pushing his hair back out of his eyes, "We haven't done anything after school for ages now. Do you guys wanna come round my place tomorrow? I don't think my mum will mind."

"Sure! Then I can show you that game you asked about Rowan," said Sam. "You coming Charlie, or is Willy Wonka going to kidnap you like he did all last week?"

Charlie laughed in reply, "He never kidnapped me, I was just busy helping him with a new product we'll be selling soon."

"A new product? Oh, please tell us what it is, I love Wonka chocolate, you know I do," pleaded Sam.

"Sorry, but I've told you before- I'm not allowed to say about things like that, Mr Wonka would be mad."

"Do you really call him that?" asked Rowan abruptly, changing the direction of the conversation altogether. He still sounded very thoughtful.

"Huh?"

"I mean, when you talk to him, do you still call him 'Mr Wonka'? It's a bit formal isn't it? I thought you guys were supposed to be like, great friends or something? Or do you have to since he's sort of your boss?"

Charlie looked ahead, watching an empty packet of crisps fly across the sidewalk, amazed Rowan thought so deeply about something so normal. "I've never really thought about it. He never said directly that I had to address him as anything, and I've always just called him Mr Wonka. It would seem a little strange if I suddenly started calling him Willy now anyway, wouldn't it?"

"I suppose it would," said Rowan in his thoughtful tone, "but anyway, do you want to come round tomorrow?"

Charlie almost wanted to laugh, Rowan went off in some very strange tangents in conversations, but now it seemed they were back where they started, "Yeah, alright," he said.

"Awesome, sounds like it's all three of us!" Sam said enthusiastically, punching his fist into the air.

They said goodbye to him at the end of that street, Sam turning left to his house, Charlie and Rowan going right towards the park. The park itself was on the common, with space for football or other ball games, a long expanse of grass that could be used for anything and a children's play area with swings. "See you tomorrow," said Charlie.

"Bye," said Rowan, as he headed off towards the block of flats he lived in, cutting though the park.

Charlie walked up the hill towards the factory thinking already about the things he would be working on that day. The design of the Bubbletastic Balls had yet to be decided, they didn't even know yet whether they'd be sold separately or in packs. They'd started work on them late yesterday, employing the help of a creative Oompa-Loompa known as Eustace. There was just so much left to do, plus he'd promised his mother he'd go shopping after school with her tomorrow for some shoes, since his old ones had become too small for him now.

'Wait a moment…Oh no!' He'd completely forgotten about it till now. He couldn't go shopping **and** go round Rowan's house all at the same time- he would just have to go back and say to his friend that he'd come round another day. He jogged back down the hill disappointedly; he'd been looking forward to it. Still, he didn't want to upset his mother, she wouldn't be best pleased if he suddenly said he couldn't go with her. Plus, he did really need some shoes, these were starting to become painful. He headed towards the park, hoping to meet Rowan before he got back home.

To his surprise however, while scanning the expanse of the park, he couldn't spot him, surely he couldn't have crossed so quickly? Bemused, Charlie walked a little way forward, but amongst the dog walker, joggers and mothers with toddlers Rowan was no where to be seen. Perhaps he'd taken a leaf from the joggers' books and had run back? Charlie shrugged, he'd just have to go to his house and see him.

He looked around him as he went, eying the leafless cherry trees and empty flowerbeds. He wondered if there were any Christmas roses growing- still, even if they were they weren't likely to be as delicious as Wonka's! He headed across the grass skirting the river, watching a tiny puffed-up robin fly from tree to tree, chirping lamentfully about the cold weather.

"-I didn't mean for that to happen!" A voice towards the river distracted his attention from the bird; he tilted his head curiously in the direction of the sound, staring at a thick jungle of bush and willow trees that bordered the waters edge.

"I don't care! You deserve everything you get!" Charlie raised his eyebrows and stopped- whatever was going on back there? There was a brief silence after this last outburst, then a loud splash followed by a lot of coughing. Charlie felt worried now.

'They couldn't be…' he wondered if he should get someone, or call the police. Then again… he could be wrong, what if one of them just fell in? Or it could just be a playful push.

Next came the sounds of someone hitting something, and accompanied with the "Oof" sounds, and Charlie realised it must be a _someone_they were hitting. Charlie wasn't sure what to do, he'd never been in a situation like this before, he couldn't seem to think clearly. He stepped forward through a gap between the bushes, thinking to see exactly what was going on before he decided to do anything else. As he passed through the tangle of shrubbery and thorns the noises became louder, as did the cries of pain. The boy's steps slowed as he struggled with his nervous feelings, nevertheless he dragged his feet forward, inching his way towards the scene of violence.

Behind a particularly thick cluster of willow trees, shrouded somewhat by a blanket of leaves stood several people, all around Charlie's own height and male. A very bad feeling creeping up on him, he himself crept forward, begging, praying not see a certain mop of black hair.

As it turned out, Charlie's prayers were not answered. The long black hair was there, sitting on Rowan's head- which, at the moment was taking a good punching. Not taking a moment's thought longer Charlie bravely rushed out, catching the boy who was pulverising Rowans' fist in the open palm of his hand. Charlie recognised him, not by name, but by sight. He was one of Martin's friends. There were four of them, this boy, two others he knew and of course- Martin.

They all looked surprised as Charlie jumped in, a stunned look quickly fluttering over Martin's haughty features before quickly disappearing. "Hello Bucket, are you the knight in shining armour here to save the princess?" he said spitefully, "if I were you, I'd try somewhere else, this princess isn't worth saving."

"Go back Charlie," said Rowan, soaking wet, his lip bloody, one eye bruised and shut, "you'll only get beat up too."

Charlie felt as though he was being tugged in two different directions by invisible winds, the love of his friend pulling him forward, common sense dragging him backward. At last, he said, "I can't leave you, you're my friend."

"I've involved you in this too much already Charlie- I couldn't forgive myself if you were hurt because of me," Rowan said, not even trying to pull his arm away from the grips of a burly youth behind him.

"Involve?" asked Charlie, his voice diving into the high-pitched pool, "what do you mean, involve? I only want to help!"

"Buzz off, pipsqueak," said Martin, his patience wearing, "this is between me and the princess, it's none of your business. Unless you want to make it so, that is." One of the other boys smacked his fist in his hand to demonstrate.

"Oh yeah, and it's these guys' business as well, is it? You're nothing but a bunch of thugs!" said Charlie angrily.

"I never said I would play fair," Martin said, "I make up my own rules."

Martin's friends didn't look best pleased at being called thugs, Charlie realised the danger he was in and tried another route, "Look," he said, deciding insultation wouldn't be the best plan of action, "why are you doing this? What's Rowan done to you?"

Light filtered through the mat made by the willow leaves, illuminating Martin's face, "My problem with Rowan is that he **exists**." His sneer grew wider, "now move."

"…No."

Martin shrugged in an attempt to look dramatic and cool, sighing ostentatiously, "Fine. Toby, Reece - Get him." The bullies launched themselves at Charlie, fingers balled into fist, while the other resumed his work with Rowan, Martin joining him. They hit and pushed at Charlie and the world became blurred, spinning this way and that as he tried to move his arm to block the blows from landing on his face. He closed his eyes, everything flying out of control. He pushed at the meaningless lumps in front of him that hurt him so much, trying to make them go away. Disjointed sounds of pain hit his ears and his mind numbly put together that they were Rowan's. A blow hit his stomach with a thump and Charlie cried out, hands gripped his arms and pulled them back behind him as more blows fell down like rain, pain splashing over him. Charlie forced his eyes open, meeting the spinning scenery again gasping. "Stop it!" he shouted, wrenching his arms from the boys, the spinning slowing somewhat. He pushed the boy who was trying to regain his grip on him, amazed as he tumbled to the ground, tripped by a tree root.

He noticed Rowan was on the ground too, over by a large willow tree, hands covering his face instinctively as Martin and his friend kicked at him without mercy. The other bully, Toby- or Reece, he wasn't too sure, was looking surprised at his partner sprawled in the grass rubbing his ankle, he looked up at Charlie and charged again, attempting to push the young Bucket into the tree behind. Encouraged by his previous victory Charlie dug his shoes into the earth and held out his hands, and soon the boys were locked in a fierce struggle, pushing against one another trying to force the other back. Charlie felt his leg muscles straining, almost giving way. He gasped, feinting, "The police!" his eyes on an empty spot behind the bully.

The other boy jumped, "What?" he asked in a panic, swivelling his head round to see behind him. Charlie took this advantage in the other boy's lack of concentration and shoved hard, watching triumphantly as the boy stumbled back, landing with a loud splash into the river, water spraying out all around him like a tidal wave.

On a high, he looked over to where Rowan was being pulverised before, determined to take Martin and the other out as well. His friend was still slumped on the ground, Martin's remaining bullish friend kicking him gleefully, delighting in his groans and cries of pain. Charlie rounded on him, feeling powerful, invincible.

But where had Martin gone? The boy with Rowan looked up as Charlie approached- and smirked. Hands wrapped around Charlie's neck choking him. "Die Bucket!" Martin said through angry gritted teeth as he clenched his hands tighter round his classmate's neck. Charlie struggled, gasping for air but finding none, his hands scrabbling like claws at Martin's, nails tearing at skin. At last when Charlie thought he couldn't bear it any longer, Martin let go, and Charlie stumbled forward.

He breathed in deeply, sucking in the sweet air he never thought he would breathe again. He half fell against a tree trunk, leaning against it for support, knowing he wouldn't have long to recover. Already the boy he'd pushed into the river was crawling out over the bank, sopping wet and looking murderous. Having nursed his bruised ankle the other of Martin's friends was now rising to his feet, not looking best pleased either. Charlie was outnumbered four to two, or four to one, seeing as Rowan wasn't doing much at all, in fact, he might have even been unconscious, he certainly wasn't doing a lot of moving.

With all four boys closing in on him Charlie began to panic, there was no way he could fight off all of them at once. Before he could have even thought of escape however Martin's hand was on him again, this time clenching his arm, preventing escape. Then all the boys were upon him, eager to cause more damage. "You asked for it Bucket," said the one dripping with water.

"You attacked me first," said Charlie, all his shyness and fear he'd lost from before rushing back overwhelmingly. His body was tense, prepared for the blows he knew were sure to follow shortly- But he could never have prepared himself for the onslaught that came. It started with simple pushing, like two people in a playground fight do, revving themselves up for a brawl. The pushes got harder and Charlie was pushed like a ragdoll from one boy to another, carried by the momentum of the push until carried to far he was thrown to the ground on his knees. Martin grabbed hold of him by his hair and pulled him painfully to his feet, only for him to be knocked down again by shoes kicking at his legs.

He was forced to endure this cycle of hair pulling and kicking until, utterly humiliated and degraded; the boys grew tired of it and opted to a more painful form of abuse. The boys, no longer synchronised in their attack picked their own methods, one kicking, others punching, someone still dragging his hair out by the roots, unearthing the thin leafless stems of hair from his scalp. Then after hurried whispers of "Why don't we-?" they all took hold of him, grabbing him roughly, Charlie's mind still spinning, and ran forward, smashing him headfirst into a tree. Charlie reeled, completely unaware of the next attacks as fireworks ricocheted inside his head. The next thing he knew, he was in the water floundering, with no recollection of how he got there, the pain still shooting in his brain.

Martin leered down at Rowan, who lay unconscious and broken under the willow tree. He heard his friends laughing at Charlie paddling and splashing wildly in the river they'd just thrown him into. Rowan's leg stuck out at an unnatural angle, Martin bit his lip guiltily, "Come on guys, let's leave Bucket to play with the fishies," he said to the three boys by the river.

"But Martin-" They moaned.

"We've only just started-"

"-Need to teach Bucket a lesson!"

"Shut up!" snapped Martin, "I said we're going!"

"Why? You afraid or something? Got the attack of the 'niceness'?" Reece said mutinously, looking to his two friends for support, who nodded with him.

Martin flushed a deep red, "Of course not. I…I've just got bigger fish to fry than these guys," One of the boys snorted, looking at Charlie in the water, "I'm going to egg Turkentine's house, coming?"

"Yeah, alright."

"Sounds more fun than fish-boy anyway." They all walked back through the bushes, Martin wiping the red stuff smeared on his hands on a neighbouring tree.

Charlie choked on the water, his eyes shut at the threat of getting water in them as he doggy-paddled blindly, searching out the bank of the river. At last his hands found the edge and his grabbed onto it like a life line, risking opening his eyelids. He looked out onto the still bank, only seeing Rowan sat motionless as he was before. 'Where did they go?' thought Charlie. He decided not to complain, although it did seem kind of strange that that they'd left so soon. 'Maybe they had another appointment beating someone else up,' he thought sourly, pulling himself up painfully over the bank. His head, still painful, had subsided into a dull throbbing and he ached all over. He didn't even want to think how many bruises he would have in the morning. He stood up slowly, wincing and feeling like an old man. He stumbled over to where Rowan was, taking one step at a time.

Rowan looked even worse than Charlie felt, as well as the injuries he'd sustained when Charlie joined the fight he now sported a big gash down his arm, a dozen more bruises and what looked like a broken leg. Bending down with a grunt of pain Charlie shook him. There was no response. He could hear Rowan's breathing, though it was shallow, so there was no need to worry about that. But it seemed Rowan had fainted, either from fear or from pain. Charlie looked at him, wondering what to do next, he wasn't old enough to own a mobile phone, and Rowan's mother hadn't let him have one either, so he couldn't ring for help. Even if they did Charlie wondered who he would ring. If it was just himself he could call the factory to get his parents, but Rowan was here and he knew Wonka refused point-blank to allow anyone into his factory without meeting them beforehand and subjecting them to rigorous inspection. Ringing 999**¹** would be his best option, but since they had no phone that idea was out of the window as well. Charlie glanced worriedly at Rowan, really not liking the angle his leg was at.

Making his mind up, he walked out of the small clearing through the bushes back into the park, wincing at every step. Once there he scanned the nearby area, thinking to approach a friendly looking person and ask to borrow a phone. On the common he spied out several suitable looking candidates and quickly rehearsed what he would say to them.

It appeared afterward that he need not have done so however, for a worried looking woman walked up to him before he could even try to approach anyone. "Are you okay?" She asked, peering at his beat-up face, "Do you need some help? You look really hurt…"

Charlie was amazed how some people could be so kind, and others so cruel.

"Yes please," he said shyly, "me and my friend got beat up and he's unconscious, it would really help I could borrow a phone to call for an ambulance."

The woman looked strangely at the modest under-demanding boy in front of her, "Let you borrow a phone? Nonsense, I'll drive you there myself." Charlie blinked up at her, not expecting this sudden kindness.

"Thank you," he said, managing a small smile.

"Wait right there and I'll fetch my husband, he's only by the swings with our daughter. He can help me carry your friend; he's not seriously hurt is he? Otherwise we'd best call the emergency services…"

Charlie shook his head, "I don't think so, but he has a broken leg… I could go get your husband if you like."

Once again the woman looked flabbergasted at the demure boy before her who seemed to think she'd just leave him and his wounded friend out in the common to die. "You're hurt, don't worry so much," she said, shaking her own head and walking off quickly towards the childrens' play area.

Charlie watched her go, glancing back to the line of trees and indulging in his habit of fiddling with the hem of his shirt, wondering if leaving Rowan there on his own was such a good idea after all. Who knows, Martin and his friends could have just ducked out of sight behind a bush, they could be attacking Rowan again right this instant. He hoped the woman would hurry, though he was immensely glad she would take them herself, he'd heard the stories about how long the emergency services took sometimes, and how the people they were supposed to be rescuing ended up dead before they'd even got to them.

When the woman came back she was with her husband and daughter, who looked about three or four. The child was whining about having to walk so quickly and evidently annoyed that her time in the park had been cut short. She quietened when she saw Charlie however, noticing how hurt he looked.

"He's this way," Charlie said, hoping the lady had filled her husband in on the way here, he didn't really feel up to explaining it all again. He led the way through the bushes and the willow trees, the little girl holding on to her father's hand. When Charlie saw Rowan, still in the same place he left him he was relieved, not knowing what he would do if he had come back and found him gone- or worse.

The man came and knelt down by Rowan checking him over, rolling up the boy's trouser leg carefully and inspecting it. "Yeah," he said, "it's broken alright. We're going to have to get him to a hospital to get that sorted, though the rest of him doesn't look in particularly great shape either." He looked over to Charlie, "same for you young man."

"I'm fine," said Charlie unconvincingly, not even believing himself.

"So what was this, some kind of childish brawl that went too far?" The man asked, distaste in his voice.

"Darling, please," said his wife, "we need to get these children to the hospital."

"Yes, yes, c'mon then." He pulled Rowan to his feet and carried him in a fireman's lift over his shoulder. They headed back out of the clearing for the last time, Charlie walking most slowly because of his injuries. To his surprise he found the little girl walking with him, a quiet look of awe on her small face from the gravity of the situation around her.

The car was parked by the roadside, and after lifting Rowan in, which was a lot harder than it sounded, it was only a short drive to the hospital. As Charlie sat in the back seat with the girl still continuously staring at him he began to relax, knowing everything would be taken care of by the doctors and nurses. His heightened sense of urgency began to fade and he found just how exhausted he was, both physically and mentally. He looked over to Rowan who sat on the over side of the girl, still asleep, his head lolled on his shoulders.

They drove into the car park, lucky that there were any spaces since the hospital was renowned for being incredibly busy. They exited the car quickly, the man once again carrying Rowan as they headed into the A & E. He dumped Rowan in an empty seat in the waiting room, "You all wait here, I'll go put you on the waiting list," he said, and Charlie sat down next to his friend, the woman and her daughter following suit.

"I never asked," the woman said, "what's your name?"

"Um, I'm Charlie," the said person stated tiredly, he gestured to the unconscious boy next to him, "and this is Rowan."

The woman nodded, as if approvingly. "You can call me Mrs White, this is my daughter Ella," the little girl who was having fun swinging her legs round in a pattern looked up, hearing her name and smiled. "And this of course is Mr White," she threw her hand in the direction of her husband, who was currently arguing loudly about why they would have to wait so long. "I'm sorry if this sounds nosy… but how did you two get like this? It doesn't seem to me like you were fighting each other."

Charlie wondered how best to explain it, in the end he decided simplest was easiest. " Well… um… I heard noises from behind the trees and found four boys from my school beating up Rowan, I tried to help, but…" he waved a hand, showing his beat up face and split lip, "there was just too many of them, and I'm not really used to fighting… at all."

Mrs White looked horrified, "I can't believe such a thing was going on right behind our backs, it's terrible! We should call the police; those boys could have killed you!"

"I want to make sure Rowan's alright first," said Charlie, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

"You need to think about yourself as well, I saw the way you limped here."

"Rowan's worse than me though, they'd started on him before I got there, I don't think I was even supposed to be involved at all. For some reason Martin really hates him," the boy said thoughtfully.

"Martin?"

"Ah, he's the boy who fought us, one of them anyway. He seems to have it in for Rowan ever since we started secondary school. I don't know why though, it's really strange. Martin's not a nice person, but he's not the type that goes around attacking people, he might threaten it, or hit you a bit, but not like this." Charlie decided to leave out the bit about Martin's name calling, there was a little girl nearby after all, and just hearing someone speak the word gay made him jump three feet into the air, for reasons quite obvious. He'd been trying to push those thoughts from his mind for the last couple of days, but they still tended to sneak back at times like this.

"Well, I'm sure you'll find the reason sooner or later," Mrs White said, bringing Charlie back from his thoughts, "knowing how easily boys fight it's probably something petty anyway."

Charlie didn't really agree, but he nodded again anyway.

"Uhnn…" A moan of pain drifted across the room as Rowan stirred, his waking expression one of hurt. Charlie jumped out of his seat, ignoring the burning pain in his ankle as he did so, and knelt down by him.

"Rowan- are you alright?"

"…No, not really," Rowan said, opening his eyes groggily, looking round the crowded waiting room. "Where is this?"

"The hospital. We've got to get your leg looked at, we think it's broken."

Rowan groaned again, "That would explain why it hurts so much," he paused, forehead still screwed in pain, "I don't remember how we got here… I didn't… faint, did I? Please tell me I didn't."

Charlie looked around uncomfortably, not meeting his friend's eyes. "I didn't see, but I think you must have done."

Rowan buried his head in his hands shamefully, "Sorry," came his muffled voice.

"There's nothing to be sorry for."

"But I left you to fight four people on your own, and in a fight you should have even had to be in!" Several people in the room looked over to see what all the noise was about; Rowan flushed and lowered his voice. "You got beat up because of me Charlie, look, your face is bleeding." Charlie raised his hand to his face, pulling it away to see red shining on his fingertips.

"That doesn't matter," said Charlie irritably, "why do you keep arguing with me like **wanted** them to beat you up?" he snapped.

Rowan flinched at his friend's words, not used to seeing him annoyed. "You're right," he said awkwardly. "Thank you for helping me."

Mr White walked back to them with a triumphant expression on his face, "I argued our way to the front of the waiting list, so you and your friend can go and be assessed now- Oh, hello, you're awake now are you?" he looked at Rowan, who stared back, wondering who on Earth was talking to him.

Charlie hesitantly climbed to his feet, using the side of one of the chairs to steady him, though still managing to stumble. 'I hope there's nothing wrong with my ankle,' he thought, a shooting pain running through him as he tested his weight on it. Mr White asked his wife to stay with Ella and he helped Rowan up, having him lean on his shoulder so he wouldn't hurt his bad leg.

They entered a small room in the A & E where a nurse was waiting. She looked over Rowan first, asking him where he hurt and checking his injuries, confirming that is leg was broken. "You'll have to have that X-rayed," she said, "I'll call to book you in the x-ray room once I check the other boy over." She addressed the second part mostly to the adult the room.

She moved on to Charlie, looking him over as well. She bent down to check his ankle, "I can't tell if this is just badly bruised or broken, I better book the x-ray room for you as well. Anywhere else hurt?"

"Um, my uh, head. It got smashed against a tree." He said, pointing to the offending part of his body.

The nurse tutted and parted the hair on top of his head, touching his scalp and invoking a large yelp from the boy. "That's a very nasty bump you've got there mister, you're going to have to be very careful, you could have a concussion, so we're going to have to keep you under observation for a while, and you can't go to sleep until we say it's alright, understood?" Charlie nodded, still grimacing from the touch, "I'm going to ring the x-ray department now, it might take a while for you both to get in there though, we're dreadfully understaffed at the moment. You'll have to go to the children's wing, just follow the brown signs, they're everywhere. You can get a wheelchair from just outside here so Mr broken-leg here won't have to walk."

Mr White and the two boys thanked the nurse and exited the room and went back to Mrs White and Ella, finding a wheelchair shortly after. From there it was a trip across the hospital to the childrens ward and a big scoop of the NHS's**2 **favourite flavour- waiting. First they had to wait to talk to one of the nurses because they were all rushed off their feet, then they had to wait because there were no beds left and then, once they were all settled in they were told they would have to wait even _longer_ for their x-rays.

"This is why I prefer not to fall ill," grumbled Mr White as a nurse adjusted Rowan's painkillers, "the NHS is terrible and the government won't do anything about it, except force hospitals to get rid of even more of their staff to save money."

Mrs White rolled her eyes, "Don't let him get started Charlie, once he starts you'll never get him to stop." She petted her husband's head playfully, "but anyway, do you think your parents would be home this time of day?"

"My mum probably is, and if not, my grandparents will be." Charlie said, propped up with half a dozen pillows.

"I can get the nurse to ring them to let them know you're here, same for your friend, but then I'm afraid we'll have to go, Ella's going to visit her granny today."

"That's fine… thanks for all your help."

"Thanks," Rowan chimed in from the next bed along.

Mrs White smiled, "I'll just mention it to the nurses on the way out then, they really should have taken personal details and rung before, but I guess they're just too busy, plus they must have thought we're your parents since we brought you here." Charlie gave a smile in return. "But it was nice meeting you boys, I hope you both get better soon, and that those bullies get what's coming to them."

"Thanks again," Charlie said. He gave a small wave as they all headed out of the ward, chattering as they went. He turned to Rowan in the bed to his left, "They were nice," he said, but then noticed the boy's eyes were closed. 'I guess he was tired,' he thought. Even so, Charlie was surprised he could sleep with all the noise that was going on around them. The ward they were in was rather large, beds crammed in to every and any space possible. The walls were painted a cheerful orange, but it needed redecorating, since the paint was starting to peel, revealing the old white colour underneath. He could hear the noise from what must be three or four televisions showing different programs and chatter from rowdy visitors.

A few minutes later a young flustered nurse with a _trainee_ badge pinned to her chest came up to Charlie brandishing a clipboard and pen, "Right," she said, flipping the papers on the clipboard hurriedly, "I need to take you boys' details and- oh!" She noticed Rowan's sleeping face.

"I can give you his," Charlie said, sitting up with a wince, the pain in his head had come back, "His name is Rowan Padell, he lives at… um, number 7D Hazel Court. I've no idea of the post code though. Sorry."

"That's alright. I presume this address is in London?" she once again asked Charlie.

"Yeah, I know his telephone number too, you'll want that as well, won't you? It's... 0207…22, no wait, there's another 2 there, and …1234. I'm pretty sure that's it." She scribbled it all down.

"And you are-?"

The boy got ready for the outburst that was sure to follow.

"Charlie Bucket."

"You mean THE Charlie Bucket?" she asked, her eyes wide and the flustered look gone. Charlie tilted his head, hoping she would quieten down, the whole hospital would know otherwise- and besides, his head was killing him.

She looked at him, eyes glittering.

"So… you've met… _Him_?"

"Yeah," Charlie said, embarrassed at all the attention he was getting, children in the nearby beds were turning to look at him now. He quickly gave her his address, wincing again as she gave an excited little shout when he told her she'd have to talk to someone in reception and ask them to pass along the message to his parents.

Charlie waited for her to leave, but she just stood there, still grinning like mad at him. Charlie thought it was quite funny to see a grown adult practically bouncing on their heels at the mention of someone's name, but at the same time it made him feel a little, no, very uncomfortable. He didn't think he'd ever get used to being famous, it just didn't suit him at all, he was too shy for that kind of thing.

After a few more questions about Willy Wonka and the factory (on the nurse's part) and several short awkward answers (on Charlie's part) she left, almost skipping, to ring the factory and Rowan's mother.

Charlie let out a long pained sigh, looking over to where Rowan slept. He wished he were allowed to sleep, but he knew he better do what the nurse in A & E had said. He remembered something Mrs Bucket had told him when he had hurt his head at home before, she had said if you fall asleep directly after banging your head really hard you could fall into a coma. He gulped. Best not to tempt fate and stay awake instead he thought.

The next hour or so passed in complete boredom for Charlie. A nurse had only come over once to give him some mild painkillers for his head and foot, which now he was off it hurt a considerable lot more, so much so he wondered how ever he had managed to walk from the car to here. He spent the rest of the time thinking about things, like what he'd like to do to Martin and his friends, the reasons why they went after Rowan, and wondering when his parents would get here. Looking at the clock on the wall he estimated that they should be arriving soon, provided they didn't get lost. He began to wonder, 'Will Mr Wonka come and visit me as well?'

Another quarter of an hour flew out the window and there was still no sign of anybody. He was just thinking of asking the nurse when he heard noises from outside the ward. There was a great amount of chatter from there and the door swung open to allow a rabble of people through. There was Rowan's mother, his four sisters, Mrs Bucket, Mr Bucket and Grandpa Joe. It was then he realised he was looking right over the top of his family's heads for Wonka. He flushed ashamedly, as one of the older nurses made a loud "Shh!" sound in the direction of the crowd.

He saw them look around and Mrs Bucket point to him, then the headed over, the doorway behind them staying disappointedly empty. Mrs Bucket rushed the last couple of feet to his bed and enveloped him a huge hug, Mr Bucket and Grandpa Joe following more calmly, though still with the same worried expressions on their faces.

"I'm sorry it took so long for us to get here Charlie," said Mrs Bucket, her voice muffled, still in the midst of the hug. She then pulled out to talk to him properly, "we had to pick your father from the toothpaste factory, and then he had to beg them to let us borrow one of the company cars, and the signs are dreadful here, we got lost so many times," she said this incredibly quickly, and with tears in her eyes. "I'm just so glad you're okay! You…are okay, right?" her voice adopted a hesitant tone.

"I'm alright Mum, don't worry. There's nothing serious wrong, I just hurt my head and my ankle, and I'm very, very bruised." His mother moved immediately to his head to look at it. "Ouch! OUCH! Mum!"

Mrs Bucket moved away, "Sorry dear," she said, "I didn't realise it was so tender." Charlie got the compulsion to rub his head better, but restrained himself just in time because he knew that would only make it worse. A thought came to him.

"Why didn't you just take the Elevator here? It would have been a lot easier than borrowing a company car."

"We can't use the elevator without Willy, we've no idea how to drive it," replied Mr Bucket.

"Surely he would have drove you if you'd asked," said Charlie, looking once again to the door, "where is he anyway?"

Grandpa Joe scratched his head, "Ah, well that's the thing. To be honest Charlie, we've no idea. We asked one of those Oompa-Loompa chaps and it turns out even they don't know, either that or they're pretending they don't."

Now it was Charlie's turn to be worried, "Where do you think he could have gone?" he asked.

Seeing Charlie's anxious look, Mr Bucket waved his hand dismissively, "I wouldn't worry too much, he'll be around somewhere. Anyway, he's a grown man, it's yourself you should be thinking about at the moment. Whatever happened to you?"

So Charlie told them about Martin and his friends and how the White family had helped him and Rowan to the hospital, as he did so he watched Rowan's family out of the corner of his eyes, seeing his mum quietly scolding Rowan's youngest sister for trying to poke her brother awake. It seemed Rowan was a very deep sleeper. Part of the way through his retelling they all came over, wanting to know what had happened to him. This forced Charlie to have to start all over again.

"I will call the police about this!" Rowan's mother, Mrs Padell exclaimed at the end of the story, "I won't let those boys get away from doing… this, to my son!" She then stormed out of the ward heading to the payphone, her daughters in tow.

The nurse made another "Shh!" sound.

Mr Bucket looked at Charlie wearily, "Do you have to have any scans? Or do you just have to rest?"

"The nurse told me I have to have an X-ray for my ankle, I don't know when though."

"Are they going to do anything about your head? It looks awfully hurt," said Mrs Bucket, fussing over Charlie's blankets.

Mr Bucket leaned over to take a look, "They might give you a CAT scan," he watched Charlie's face melt into utter bewilderment, "no, it's not for cats," he said before he could ask, laughing.

The old nurse who had been shouting at people for making too much noise came over, Mr Bucket quickly fell quiet. "You're Charlie Bucket, correct?" she barked out, eying all Charlie's visitors irritably.

"Uh, y-yes."

"You and Mr Padell have to go to the X-ray room now." She looked over again to the Bucket family, "Visiting hours are almost over now, you'll have to leave."

"Oh! Wait Charlie, I'm almost forgot," Mrs Bucket said, whipping up her bag from by her feet, "I'll give this to you now, since we have to go. I didn't want you to spend the night alone here, so I brought your Mr Bear to keep you company." She pulled out an old chewed on bear with several patches and different coloured buttons for eyes and tucked it in to the covers next to Charlie, who was sinking down into his sheets, his face reddening. "Mu-um!" he moaned in embarrassment.

x

Far above this, at the highest point of the factory, and completely unaware of these events, Willy Wonka sat on the roof watching the moonrise, thinking.

x

**1**- 999 is the number you call in Britain for the emergency services.

**2- **NHS- National Health Service.

Oh, and I wouldn't suggest ringing Rowan's telephone number, it's actually the number for King's Cross train station! I just wanted a number in London.

Rowan's name is actually a joke, though a very lame one. All the names in the CatCF book are silly, so I wanted to go along with it. Rowan Padell: Row and Paddle. Ha ha, get it? Get it? …I know, it's lame. Then again, Chuck Bucket isn't much better really. :D


	11. Chapter 11

_Chapter XI- Just Desserts_

The moon was but a sliver that night, a slice of misty white cut and pasted onto the sky. That being, it was dark. Not that Wonka minded- he wasn't here for the view anyway, and he certainly wasn't afraid of the dark. Though it shamed him to admit it, he was up there because he was hiding.

Earlier that day he'd been in the Tech-Tock room working on the wrapper designs with Eustace, Charlie had yet to return and Wonka was awaiting him eagerly. All of a sudden the door had swung open and Doris had fallen in, shouting something about Charlie. He hadn't waited to hear anymore however, remembering how she'd cornered him last time about that particular subject a week or so ago was enough for him. He high-tailed it out of the room, almost dropping his hat as he zoomed into the corridor. When he turned his head he saw to his dismay that she was chasing him, wheezing at him to come back and stop being ridiculous. He knew he _was_ being ridiculous, but there was no way she was going to get him back into that room- or indeed any- to discuss his relationship with his heir.

It was an amusing sight to the other Oompa-Loompas, and they all stopped what they were doing to come and watch the two of them speeding down the corridors. Wonka could distantly make out she was saying something about Charlie again, and strangely enough, something about a hospital- though he had no idea what that might mean. All he knew was that he had to get away, and he ran and ran till he finally lost sight of her, and after that, came up here.

That was several hours ago now.

'She's probably given up, I 'spect it's safe to go back in now,' he thought, leaning back into the cold night, 'I don't like this,' he carried on, 'I don't like not being able to go where I want in my own factory, I can't carry on running away like this; it's not me at all. There has to be a solution, there has to be something… yeah! That's it, I'll think of something!' Unfortunately, the amazing answer of thinking of something still lacked the amazing answers he wanted answering in the first place. Or to put that in English, he was stumped. He couldn't get rid of the Oompa-Loompas, (who would work the machines?) he couldn't get rid of himself (who would order the Oompa-Loompas?) and he definitely couldn't get rid of Charlie. (Who would stop Wonka falling apart?)

He needed all three, but at the same time he knew he couldn't keep going like this. Oh yes, he could carry on pretending everything was alright, eat breakfast with the Buckets, work with little Charlie- but the truth was killing him. He had to do something, and fast.

Wonka rubbed his aching head, it was typical, he could defy gravity, create magic, do extraordinary things, but the one thing he couldn't deal with was one twelve-year old boy.

He stood up, it was no use working with such a head, he'd have to try thinking again later. Right now he needed a nice, long, refreshing sleep, and maybe a dream that things might be better in the morning. Doris would be back in the Loompa wing by now. He tore his eyes away from London and started towards the trapdoor- and beyond that- his bed.

Back in his room, he'd barely gone in and taken off his hat when there was a knock at the door. He frowned deeply and made up his mind. He walked the length of his room over to the door, wiped away the frown, and opened it. As he expected, there was Doris. "Not today, thank you," he said, and started to close it again.

"Willy, listen to me- Charlie is in **hospital!**" The door shut on 'hospital'. It quickly opened again.

"What?" Wonka asked with a dumbfounded expression.

"I said he's in hospital," Doris said sharply, glaring up at the man. "That's what I was trying to tell you earlier when you kept running away! What's with you today?"

"I thought- I thought-" he changed tracks, "hang on, Charlie's in hospital? Why didn't ya tell me?"

"I just said, I was trying to!" she said, seething.

"But…I…what?...what's he doing in there?"

"He's got a hurt ankle and lots of cuts and bruises apparently. The woman on the phone didn't tell me why," Doris said, glad Wonka finally seemed to be listening properly. "The Buckets came back from visiting him hours ago, ask them in the morning and they'll probably be able to tell you. If you hadn't run off while I was **trying** to tell you this before, you could have gone and seen him tonight," she scolded him, giving him her best death glare.

"Oh, that's alright," Wonka said, putting on his hat again, "I'll just go visit him tonight."

"Tonight?! It's past one in the morning Willy! They won't let you in."

"Yes, I know. I'll just use one of those thingamadoodles… y'know, the things ya swing up till they catch on something, then you climb up the rope?"

"A _grappling hook_?" she asked, flabbergasted.

"Yah, that's the one. Run along and ask one of the others on the night watch to get me one, will you?"

"Willy-"

He finally met her eyes, "Please?" he said.

"Oh fine, fine! I'll go get you a grappling hook, you incorrigible man!" she left the room and Wonka, after a moments hesitation, put down his hat again on the dresser, it wouldn't do to have it falling off while climbing. He also put on one of his fewer coats that had muted colours; this one had a shade of grey and had been lurking right at the back of his wardrobe. Lastly he took a number of items from one of the drawers and put it in his pocket, just in case.

So, he realised, Charlie wasn't late back from school that day, he'd never come back in the first place. Wonka, no matter what he said to Doris, he did wish he'd listened to her before. What had Charlie thought after he never came to see him? Was he upset? Did he even notice? 'Charlie was in pain while I was off playing the fool,' he thought bitterly, 'and I'm supposed to be his friend.'

Five minutes later Doris and two other Oompa-Loompas came back, carrying a grappling hook and a long rope between them.

"I hope you know what you're doing," she said as they handed the items over.

He took the Great Glass Elevator to the hospital, and it got there a lot quicker than the Buckets had in the car from the tooth paste factory, perhaps due to the fact that the Elevator didn't have to take long winding roads and couldn't get stuck in traffic jams.

The hospital loomed again, a vision in grey concrete. There were a few lights in the windows, but most were dark. The Elevator touched down in the car park and Wonka, looking very different without his hat, stepped out. Now he just had the problem of locating what ward Charlie was in. 'What was it Doris said again?' he thought, 'Oh yeah, the last room in the children's ward.' He didn't know how he'd find the 'last room' from the outside, but the children's ward should be easy enough. He followed the name on the signs to round the back of the building. There was a door, and the words 'Children's Ward' was spelt in many bright badly coloured in letters, by the looks of things, done by the children (either that or just very un-artistic adults).

He walked round that part of the building several times before deciding on a place. It was a second floor window to a corridor; he picked it since there was a risk of making too much noise and waking up some of the kids if he climbed into a ward. No doubt they would scream their little heads off until the night staff came running, and by then half the hospital would have been woken up. It wasn't really a situation he was anxious to be involved in; he'd just sneak in quietly, see how Charlie was and leave just as silently as before. Just like a mouse. A mouse with a grappling hook, anyway.

Wonka tied the rope firmly onto the hook and let his hand slide down it a foot or two. He took a step away from the building and began to swing it in a circle, his eyes locked on a ridge just underneath the window frame. Once it had enough momentum he swung it up and let go, letting it fly high into the air. It clanked against the sloped ledge and slid down to the raised edge where it caught. Wonka took hold of the rope again and tugged, it seemed stable enough. At any rate, it was only a one-story drop if he fell. He started to climb, using his knees as well as his arms to get up. He clambered out onto the thin edge and pressed himself, stomach forward, to the wall. He side-stepped over to the window, and frowned. He couldn't have known it from the ground, but on closer inspection it turned out to be one of those windows that didn't hardly open at all. He was thin, but not _that_ thin.

However, he had come prepared for all obstacles. He delved into his pocket and pulled out a packet of gum, he wasn't that fond of gum, but for Charlie he would bear it. He unwrapped it, tossed it in his mouth and began to chew.

As the gum became soft and floppy in his mouth, Wonka himself became soft and floppy. His arms elongated and reached down to the window, throwing themselves through, then he bent down backwards unnaturally low and slid himself through, feet first. He seemed to flatten out as he went through, then pop out back to his original size, like a jelly that will spring back after you touch it. He flowed out onto the floor and sat up, taking the gum out of his mouth. Putting it back inside its wrapper with a cringe, he made note to dispose of it later, and slid it back into his pocket.

He stood up and looked about the corridor, wondering which room Charlie would be in, 'the last room', he reminded himself. One way the corridor branched out to the left and right, the other way it went a bit further before coming to a dead end. 'It might be down there,' he thought to himself, and walked as silently as he could to the end of it. Right at the end there was a door, and Wonka knew Charlie was there, not just because Doris had told him, but because he could feel it. Charlie's presence permeated through the door like an odourless perfume.

He entered like a ghost, unseen, unheard. After a few moments frantic search he noticed him-Charlie. Wonka's heart almost broke when he saw him. He was lying in the bed by the window, fast asleep. With his head bandaged, one eye purpled and his bottom lip puffed up, he was truly a sight for sore eyes.

Wonka hurried over, walking past the other sleeping children, including Rowan. He knelt down by Charlie's side, and as best as he could with the bad lighting, (which was only the moonlight filtering in through the blinds) he examined him. There was an overlarge lump under the covers where his foot should lay, and he remembered what Doris had said about his ankle being hurt. It was probably all bandaged up.

"Charlie," he said softly, "Charlie."

The boy came round gently, blinking his eyes in the darkness with a "Whazzah?" He looked over at the place Wonka knelt, his eyelashes still fluttering as they adjusted to the dark. Slowly Wonka's figure came into view, and he saw who it was. He sat up excitedly, his tiredness dropping away. "Mr Wo-"

"Shh!" Wonka said quickly, covering the boy's mouth with his hand. "Ya gotta keep quiet or you'll wake up the others, alright?" Charlie nodded, and Wonka retracted his arm.

"Mr Wonka," Charlie said more quietly, but just as happily, "I thought you'd forgotten me."

"Forgotten you? Nonsense, my boy, no one can forget you. I was just- uh- having a little trouble with an Oompa-Loompa. So, most unfortunately I couldn't come earlier, but, I'm here now, ain't I?" he said with a smile.

"What was the trouble with the Oompa-Loompa? Was he sick?" asked Charlie, curious even in ill health.

"It doesn't matter," Wonka said with a shake of his head, "what really matters is you. You're the one I came to see. Now, what ever happened to you?"

"Huh? Didn't my parents tell you?" asked Charlie, shifting round to swing his legs off the bed and face Wonka.

"Tah be honest I haven't seen them since the morning, like I said, I was busy."

"Oh! I get it now!" Charlie said, then blushed and lowered his voice when he realised how loud he was being, "I get it. Mum, Dad and Grandpa Joe said they couldn't find you when they got the news, that's cuz you were with that Oompa-Loompa, right? He's not… dying, or anything like that, is he?"

"Nah, nothing like that," the man said, and Charlie saw that his cheerful smile had become slightly fixed, he decided he better change the subject.

"Oh, well… you know I told you and Dad a while back that some boys were saying stuff to me and my friend Rowan?"

"My memory ain't that bad, ya know- that was only a few days ago."

"Right, so anyway, Martin- he's the boy who keeps picking on Rowan- and three of his friends, they uh-" he paused, Wonka wasn't going to like this one bit, "they did this. To Rowan too, except he's even worse than me."

Charlie watched as Wonka's face changed, the cheerful smile he'd come in wearing changing into something far more murderous looking. It frightened Charlie a little, if he was truthful. He was just glad that anger wasn't directed at him.

"Rowan's mum said she was going to call the police," he said, very quickly.

"What will they do?" Wonka said quietly, Charlie didn't answer, it was a rhetorical question. "Give them a warning, a slap on the wrist," he carried on, something dark shining in his eyes, "they won't do anything. Naughty children deserved to be punished. What's his second name Charlie?"

"Mr Wonka- I really don't think-"

"His name, Charlie." Something in his face scared Charlie, and combined with his expression, it terrified him. His face had turned to stone; there was no smile, real or fake.

"Martin. Martin Spoons." Charlie said quickly, looking at the floor, unable to meet Wonka's fierce eyes.

All at once it seemed the darkness was lifted, the smile came back to Wonka's face, and accordingly, the fear left Charlie's heart. "I'm just glad you're okay, at any rate," he said, "I better get back to the factory, I'll come visit ya tomorrow… oh, today even. Kay?"

"What, you're leaving already?" Charlie asked, putting aside the moment before.

"Yeah, I better. I don't want one of these kids to wake up and go crazy cuz 'I'm Willy Wonka' heh."

"Oh right, yes, I suppose you better then." Charlie wavered, and then held out his arms to the man.

"Huh?" Wonka asked, not understanding what Charlie meant by the gesture.

"Doesn't the sick person get a goodbye hug?" said Charlie with a little pout, though inside he was nervous. He'd never hugged Wonka before, not properly. He wondered if he was pushing his luck.

Wonka hesitated as well, and giggled apprehensively. "Sure. Yes. Of course." And he stood up from where he was kneeling and took a seat next to Charlie, smiling in an almost shy way. He held his own arms out and wrapped them around Charlie, and round his own back he felt smaller ones do the same. As a head rested against his shoulder he felt his unease ebb away, and he shut his eyes, savouring every moment, as Charlie did the same. Silently, in the darkness. Surrounded by sleeping children who would never see, never understand.

After what felt like a millennia, or maybe even a millisecond, Wonka let go. He didn't want it to go on too long; the boy might start feeling awkward. When he stood up he smiled again, the truest smile Charlie had seen all night. Maybe the truest smile Charlie had ever seen him wear. "Must get going," he said, "see you later."

"Yes, bye." Charlie said delicately, feeling dazed with happiness from the embrace. After Wonka left the room he raised his hand and touched his forehead, right where the chocolatier's hair had brushed against it.

His smile stayed with him right through the night.

xxx

Rowan remarked how cheerful Charlie looked almost straight away the next morning. "Sometimes it takes you till the middle of the night to realise something important," was the only thing Charlie would say.

After his parents had left yesterday Charlie and Rowan had had their X-rays, and their results back shortly after. Rowan's leg was broken in one place and chipped in another. Charlie's ankle was just badly bruised and twisted. It wasn't all good news for him however, when the nurse had come to bandage it up she saw it was red and inflamed looking. He had accumulated a scratch along with his other injuries on his ankle, and she thought that it was most likely infected. She set him on a course of antibiotics and told him he'd have to stay at least a day more to keep an eye on him, as MRSA was a problem in this hospital, and in their own words "You couldn't be too careful." As for his head, it had stopped being so painful- and therefore they had made the decision to let him sleep that night.

"These doctors and nurses are hardly sure of anything, are they?" Rowan had whispered after the nurse had left.

Despite the bad news that he'd have to stay a little longer, Charlie's high spirits didn't drop, even when he was eating the delightful hospital breakfast of cold toast and highly diluted orange squash. When visiting time came round, they soared.

As soon as the clock hit half past ten the door to the ward swung open and his mother, father, and a stranger- presumably to see another patient- walked in. But where was Wonka? He felt his spirits drop ten-fold when he saw he hadn't come. 'He said he would,' Charlie thought miserably, 'he said he would and he hasn't come.'

It was then he looked at the stranger walking with his parents. He had wild long brown straggly hair, stubble, and was dressed in all black leather. He also had purple eyes. The man caught Charlie's gaze from across the room and winked. The boy understood immediately.

When the man and Mr and Mrs Bucket reached Charlie's bedside his father coughed pointedly, "Ah, Charlie. Your Uncle Bilius wanted to come and see you as well."

Uncle Bililus leant over to Charlie, "I couldn't come in my normal outfit or I'd start a riot, it's too well known. So I thought I'd come in disguise. Good, eh? I finally got the hair toffee to work properly, it's taken me years." He fingered his long locks proudly.

Charlie laughed, "It looks strange on you."

"Bad strange or just different strange?" Wonka asked with concern.

Thinking about it for a moment, Charlie said, "Just strange. But how did you get the hair toffee to work? Like you just said, we've been working on it for years; it's always gone wrong."

"That's the thing; I've been stumped for months and months. Then when I came back from the hospital-" he said this bit even more quietly, "It just… clicked. I've been working all through the morning- I didn't want to wait a minute longer."

"Ahem," said Mr Bucket, standing by his wife, "we are still here, you know."

"Oh, sorry Dad," said Charlie sheepishly, and Wonka leant back.

Charlie spent the rest of the morning with them, talking and chattering. It turned out the police had rung the factory last night and had spoken to Mrs Bucket. She'd given them Martin's name and recounted all Charlie had told her about the attack. They would be coming to question Charlie and Rowan about it later.

At around twelve o' clock Rowan's mother and his oldest sister, who was old enough to have left school came to visit him. Shortly after, the two Bucket parents announced they would have to leave, Mr Bucket had to get back to work and Mrs Bucket was needed at home to look after Charlie's grandparents. Charlie saddened at this, but perked up immediately when 'Uncle Bilius' said he would be staying. Apparently, they had come separately, the Buckets in the company car they were still borrowing, with Wonka making his own way. When Charlie asked the reasoning behind this his mentor told him he'd had something to do before he came to visit. Charlie asked what, but Wonka replied with a fit of coughing. The boy gave up, there was no use trying to get something out of Wonka that he didn't want to share.

So Mrs and Mr Bucket left, and Wonka stayed behind.

"Aren't you needed back at the factory?" Charlie asked quietly, so no one else could hear. He was sitting up in a chair beside the bed, with Wonka on a spare one facing him.

"Nah, it can run itself for a little while longer, the Oompa-Loompas know what they're doing. 'Sides, visiting you is more important, ya are my heir, after all."

Charlie blushed, turning his head away to reach for a glass of water on a tray, balanced on the other side of the bed. After last night he couldn't help but think 'Is that all?'

Wonka introduced himself to Rowan and family flawlessly, saying he was Charlie's uncle Bilius who lived in another part of London, but had rushed here as fast as he could when he found out what had happened to his favourite nephew. The family accepted this story straight away, all except for Rowan, whose eyes found Wonka's. Charlie had told him before about Wonka's eyes, and purple wasn't exactly common- so it wasn't exactly hard to figure out who it was.

"Charlie's told me all about you sir," Rowan said with a knowing grin.

"Uh, well, okay then." Wonka said hesitantly, pulling a strange expression and not looking at Rowan in the face.

For the rest of the day Charlie and Wonka talked and talked and talked. This was only punctuated by brief visits from doctors and nurses, and at about three o'clock, two policemen. They had the boys recount the attack in detail, wrote down notes of how and what had been injured, and took down the names of all the bullies. Thankfully, Rowan knew them all better than Charlie did.

At around seven, when Wonka was getting ready to leave, a doctor examined Charlie's infected ankle, and announced it to be getting better; there certainly seemed to be a great deal less redness than before. Then, to both their surprise (and Charlie's joy) he announced that he was fit to go home. He smiled all the way through as the doctor explained how to look after his injuries and how often to take the antibiotics. It was only Rowan who became sullen by Charlie's impending departure.

"Don't worry," said Charlie, "I'll come and visit you lots and lots, and bring Sam too- he probably doesn't even know where we've gone."

Soon enough they were ready to go and a nurse gave him crutches so he wouldn't have to put any weight on his bad foot. A few minutes later and they were checking out in reception. It seemed strange to Charlie, walking (or hopping) down the corridor with his crutches, and with a Wonka that didn't look like a Wonka. But it was still definitely him, he was still the same height after all, and behind that stubble was the same face. It was a very new look for the chocolatier, and, in Charlie's revised opinion, made him look quite good. He couldn't seem to stop his eyes from dropping down to look at the man's tight leather trousers; they seemed to have a mind of their own.

Charlie was looking forward to getting outside, he hadn't been in the fresh air for over a day, but as the automatic door slid open flashes went off from every direction, and they stopped, momentarily blinded. Out of the corner of his eye Charlie saw Wonka mouth something that looked a bit like 'oh no'. They were surrounded by journalists of every size and colour, each speaking at the top of their voices trying to get the famous heir to Wonka chocolate empire's attention.

'That nurse from yesterday must have told them,' thought Charlie, still blinking from the mass flash. He and Wonka pushed through, which was increasing difficult with Charlie's crutches. He was sure that someone had tried to purposefully trip him by putting their foot in front of one.

"-How did this happen to you Mr Bu-"

"-at the factory?"

"-Just have a short word-"

"-where is Willy Wonka?"

That was the only good thing about it- because of Wonka's brilliant disguise not one of the journalists could tell who he was. If they knew they would surely become even more crazed, but as it was, they only saw Wonka's heir walking with a man, presumably a family member.

Wonka passed through the crowd with his heir, tracing a path and sticking close to the boy. "Don't say anything to them," he whispered through the corner of his mouth.

The journalists followed them as they made their slow progress forward, still with their never ending flashes and questions. Charlie just hoped they got to the Elevator soon, 'Why has Mr Wonka parked it so far away?' he wondered.

At last, they stopped, and Wonka dug around in his pockets for something. Charlie looked around, confused. He didn't see the Elevator anywhere near, _unless_, Wonka hadn't brought it.

'I suppose it _would_ have attracted a lot of attention,' Charlie thought to himself, 'but… what did he bring then?' It was then it struck him. Wonka was wearing leather, he had stubble, long hair…

"Just climb on the back," Wonka said, climbing first onto the black motorcycle and turning the key in the ignition. Charlie would have stopped to gawp if the journalists weren't still making a ruckus right around them. He looked round for a place to put his crutches, and, finding nowhere, gestured to Wonka for help. The man winked and produced a small bag about the size of a football. He took the crutches from Charlie and slid them in, logic stepping to the side to make way for Willy Wonka. Charlie hopped onto the back, taking Wonka's shoulder to steady him.

Wonka revved the engine and it roared furiously, the journalists behind quickly moving out of the way, still clicking their cameras. "Hold on," he said. Charlie nervously took hold of Wonka's sides, feeling rather giddy. The bike roared again as Wonka reversed out of the space, and zoomed forward.

Charlie laughed as they left the journalists behind, the last few flashes falling upon them. Wonka pulled out of the car park onto the main road- and they were off. The wind whipped through their hair as they sped along up the streets, Charlie wrapped his hands around Wonka tighter as they went round the bend, the sun bouncing off the dark body of the bike.

To Charlie, who'd never ridden on a motorcycle in his life, it was even better than the Elevator. The only experience he'd had with bikes was the old bicycle he used to ride to school some mornings back before he'd moved into the factory. It only had one gear, and the chain used to fall off constantly- but it used to get him to school on time, so was good enough for him. When he was about eight, he'd painted yellow lightning down the sides to make it go faster. Whether it actually did or not was debatable, but it certainly made it look more interesting.

It couldn't compare with this. They zoomed through the traffic, weaving their way through the cars effortlessly, only pausing at the traffic lights before rumbling forward again. "You like it?" Wonka shouted through the wind to his heir, half turning his head.

"Yeah!" Charlie shouted back, and they darted round the corner.

It only took ten minutes- and certainly not long enough for Charlie- to get back to the factory, the gates swinging open as they approached. Wonka slowed down as they went through, the bike thundering to a standstill by where the trucks were parked. Wonka took back his key and climbed off first, handing Charlie's crutches to him from out the bag. The boy dismounted breathlessly, "I never knew you could drive a motorbike sir!" he said.

"I have many hidden talents Charlie," Wonka said with a secretive smile, "I learnt this particular one when I was a teenager."

Charlie drank in this information thirstily, it wasn't often Wonka talked about his past, so little nuggets like this were extremely valuable to the boy. He wanted to know as much as he possibly could about his mentor.

Wonka laughed in that giggly way of his, though it looked slightly odder than usual, perhaps because he was dressed as a biker. "I thought ya would like it," he said.

"Oh I do Mr Wonka! It was… it was amazing! Could I have another go sometime?"

"Course you can kiddo, but we'll wait till your foot's better."

Charlie nodded happily, "Okay!"

"Right then, we better get yer back to your parents, I bet they'll be pleased to see you."

"They'll probably be surprised," Charlie said, putting his arms through the slots in his crutches.

They walked together to the Chocolate Room, Wonka waiting patiently for Charlie to catch up every couple of steps. As expected the Buckets were surprised, but it was a very nice surprise. Mrs Bucket had to shove some half-wrapped Christmas presents out of view quickly, and Grandma Georgina hid something she was knitting behind her back. With everything else going on Charlie had almost forgotten Christmas was coming.

The Buckets settled Charlie down on the sofa, Mrs Bucket smothering him with blankets and pillows and bombarding him with questions about how he felt and what he would like to eat. Wonka managed to slip out of the door unnoticed, wanting to get away from all the noise. Charlie was in good hands, and that was good enough knowledge for him.

As he walked, he fingered his long windswept hair, "Time to get this back to normal," he thought. He _had _managed to fix all the kinks in the hair toffee, but it wasn't like his other candy that wore off after a while, it acted like real hair did. It didn't go till you cut it off. As he got in the Elevator he decided it must be his most amazing creation yet, after all, it wasn't just for children. What about bold men? Forget the expensive scam hair re-growth kits; all you needed was Wonka chocolate. It would be a huge hit!

He had given up hope for it a long time ago, no matter how much he altered the recipe and the quantities he just couldn't get it to work properly, it always went out of control and produced _too much_ hair. Then, after he'd come back from the hospital last night it had just hit him- the hairy trumpet! A rare species of flower that bloomed in shady spots of Loompa land. To keep themselves warm in the winter their hair grew thick and long and in summer receded to a thin layer. 'It would be perfect!' he had thought, and he'd rushed straight over to the storerooms to get some. After that it was to the Inventing Room and by the time he'd left this morning he had a fully working model.

The Elevator whooshed upwards and to the side and something he had said a long time ago came back to him- _When I feel terrible the candy is terrible._

'So, surely… when I feel great… the candy I make is great?' remembering that night, with his arms round Charlie's and his body pushed up close to his, it wasn't hard to know why.

The Elevator came to an abrupt halt and the door opened. The room in front of him was bustling with activity, a dozen or so Oompa-Loompas with scissors, hair dye, or rollers scuttled past, tending to tribeswomen with half-finished haircuts on tiny stools. Several others pored through magazines, pointing out styles they liked and wrinkling their noses at ones they didn't.

As Wonka stepped in they all turned to look, most of them smiling. He walked over to the only normal sized chair and sat down, as an Oompa-Loompa with a comb between his teeth power walked over.

"Good evening Alphonso," said Wonka, and the little man took the comb out of his mouth and smiled. Though he couldn't speak English, only understand it, he was the best barber in the whole factory, and nearly always tended to Wonka himself. "I'd like my normal style back thanks,"

Alphonso replied in a series of complicated looking hand gestures.

"Ah well," said Wonka, tugging again at his hair, "it is rather good, but I kinda miss my old one." Alphonso studied him for a moment and then nodded, pulling up a ladder and setting to work on him with his pint-sized comb. He worked in silence, unknotting Wonka's hair and combing it all through as the man himself hummed a jaunty tune, tapping his foot along with it. When Alphonso slid down the ladder and put the comb back on the counter, Wonka spoke.

"I don't suppose Sengal and Rasha have stopped trying to declare war on one another yet, have they?"

Alphonso replied by swiftly clapping his hands, tugging on his left ear and tapping his nose thrice. "I didn't think so," said Wonka wearily, "I'm going to have to move one of those two to the other side of the building if they keep this up. I keep hearing complaints everywhere about the noise they're making."

Alphonso waved his hands forward and back like fans and stuck a finger up his nose.

"A peace mission? Heh, sound like it might be needed the way things are going. Ya know what? It might actually be a really good idea, and hey! I can bring Charlie along, he's-" Alphonso grinned at the mention of the boy, giving the off-put Wonka a knowing look, "…never… been to the Oompa-Loompa wing, ah, before," he finished with a pale flustered look. He diverted his eyes to shelf of pink hair dye.

They exchanged no more words (or hand gestures) as Alphonso gathered up his scissors and equipment and snipped and snapped at Wonka's hair, returning it to its original state, and after shaved off his stubble. When he was once again one-hundred percent Wonka he stood up and removed the plastic cover from over him, a bit more colour in his cheeks. "Thanks then Al," he said, giving the usual Loompa salute, as Alphonso gave it back. "I need to head over to the Inventing Room now, I got some Oompa-Loompas cookin' something up fer me. I've got business tonight, so let the others know if they come looking for me."

x

In the Inventing Room a team of Oompa-Loompas wearing purple jumpsuits emblazoned with the Wonka initials stood around a table. They were Wonka's personal team, there to create anything Wonka himself had no time to do and were usually there with him to read the ingredient list, pass him things and brainstorm with him. They were a pre-Charlie idea and since the boy moved in had a lot less work than usual.

They had busy today however, this morning Wonka had come to them with instructions to make something incredibly unusual, they knew from that moment that the man was planning something very bad. Chocolates, but with one special ingredient- the poison from the fangs of the hornswangler.

Wonka's shoes tapped their way over to where they stood, and tilted as he leant over to get a closer look at the object on the table. "You've done well. Excellent," he said grimly.

xxx

The wind blew through the open window and ruffled the curtains, as the boy with light brown hair strewn on his pillow shivered in his sleep. A figure appeared in the empty window and stepped down onto Martin's carpet. Dressed in the same black leather trousers and jacket the most disturbing feature Wonka wore was his smile. His eyes seemed to burn as they lay on the sleeping boy and his grin became even more pronounced. He approached the boy's bedside and put down a purple heart shaped box with a red ribbon tired round it into a bow. A label hung from a string on the side of it, it read;

_To Martin_

_From your secret admirer_

_x_

He took one hard long look at Martin, and bent down near his ear, sneering, "I won't forgive you for what you did to my Charlie," he said, his warm breath against the boy's neck. "Ever."


	12. Chapter 12

_Chapter XII- The Glass Vial_

"It seems to have been one thing after another for you lately Charlie," Mrs Bucket said sadly, as she laid out a plate in front of her son. It bore a couple of pieces of toast, covered in his favourite strawberry jam. He nibbled on the crust of his breakfast, feeling that this was one of those things that didn't need a reply. His left foot hung under the table, bandaged, and he didn't even want to try and count the number of bruises that had sprang up on him over the night. Charlie couldn't help but agree with his mother, things did seem to have become increasingly difficult on an unfair scale these last few weeks.

Because of his foot it made it near impossible for Charlie to climb the ladder to his bedroom, so last night he'd slept in his grandparents bed with them. He had been sandwiched between Grandpa George and Grandma Georgina. Despite his grandfather's snoring, he didn't think he'd slept so heavily in months, he'd slept right through breakfast and his father going to work, and now it was almost half past ten! It must have been a personal record for him. He was an early riser, used to getting up early for the long trudge to school from his old house, and never breaking the habit.

"You know," began Mrs Bucket, sitting down opposite of Charlie with a cup of tea. "Willy came round for breakfast today; he asked how you were doing."

Charlie felt his heart leap triumphantly in his chest. 'He was thinking about me!' he thought happily.

"He was very, very tired. He had some mighty bags under his eyes, and looked even paler than usual- if that's even possible! I wonder if he stayed up all night working on something again. The poor man's such a workaholic." She stirred the teabag in her cup round absently. "Hm, I saw Martha the other day. You remember Martha, don't you? She had that little girl you used to play with sometimes."

"Yeah, I remember," said Charlie, his attention slipping somewhat. "They lived near us."

"Well, she said her husband was learning to be an electrician, what a coincidence huh? It'd be funny if he and your father starting working together, wouldn't it?"

Charlie's attention ran for the hills. "Sure would," he said, and looked towards the window, source of all daydreams.

As Mrs Bucket attempted to steer the conversation towards the idea that Charlie really needed new shoes (not helped by Charlie himself, whose distracted brain could only seem to produce mediocre one word answers) he daydreamed. Slipping a distracted finger into his mouth and chewing on it absently, he thought, once again, about Wonka. He seemed to have become an addictive thought as of late, though only more recently a pleasurable one.

Why was it he was attracted to him? This was something he'd never questioned till now, having spent so much time trying to convince himself he wasn't in the first place. He'd heard from somewhere that gay and straight people were just born like it, that it was just the way people worked. Now that was fair enough, if it worked like that, then he couldn't help it, right?

'Yes,' he thought, 'but what does that have to do with Mr Wonka? There must be something about him, like what Dad said about falling in love with Mum for her laugh.'

He thought about it, and the more he did, the more it made sense. 'He's funny and interesting, honest… usually, and well- he's magical!"

His mother said something, and Charlie nodded furiously, in his head thinking; 'I don't know how I'll do it… but I'll tell him.'

After a decision on this scale is made, one next has two options; to plan carefully before acting, or to rush in blindly, trusting only your instincts. Sometimes the latter works, however, more often that not it fails miserably- leading to dire consequences. Charlie thought it better to play it safe, and with only his imagination and his heart, he began to plan.

Ideas falling like seeds upon fertile ground, growing and forming saplings of plans. Charlie thought about it all day, in between sleep, rest, and more sleep. These plans grew and dropped ideas of their own, some becoming adult, others withering and dying. These weren't the dream plans of a shy child with a crush on his teacher however. These were real possible plans, to be carried out.

They were wide and varied, ranging from simply telling Wonka how he felt, to having the Oompa Loompas do it though song, after which he would jump down from some out of sight place and kiss him before he had a chance to speak a word, either good or bad. (He thought about this quite seriously, but later decided that it had a few too many holes in to work.)

Some way or other, he'd tell him. Maybe it'd be a completely stupid thing to do, maybe the worst thing he ever did. But he knew if he didn't it would eat away at him, claw away at his insides like a baby tiger, growing every second Charlie's confession remained unspoken. Someday it'd become a fully grown adult and destroy him from the inside out. Even to the get the words out in the open would be a relief, if by some chance, some wonderful, beautiful chance Wonka accepted them, reciprocated them, he didn't know what he'd do. Fling himself into his arms and cry tears of joy perhaps.

Sometime in the afternoon he fell asleep, falling into dreams of only one subject. All the could remember of them later was the tail end, where Wonka had caressed his cheek, running two fingers down from his ear to his chin, and he woke, shivering, to the sound of ringing.

He sat up in grandparents' bed, startled. His grandparents themselves were gone, presumably out into the garden. His father wasn't there, so he guessed they must be with him. Mrs Bucket looked equally surprised by the noise, her owl like eyes appearing above her book. It wasn't often their phone range, when one called the factory they got through to Doris and her team of receptionists in administration. They could connect the caller through to the house, but they tended just to take a message and sent it over via Oompa Loompa.

Mrs Bucket stood up, came over to the telephone, and picked up the phone.

"Hello?" she said. Charlie watched curiously.

"_Good evening Mrs Bucket,"_ said the voice at the end of the line, it was Doris. _"I've got the headmaster of Charlie's school on the line, a Mr Bian. He says he needs to talk now so I'll patch you through."_

"Thank you," said Mrs Bucket.

There was a clicking noise, and the headmaster's voice next came though the receiver.

"_Hello, hello? Anybody there?"_

"Yes, Mrs Bucket here," said she, taking a seat next to the phone.

"_Ah, hello there Mrs Bucket. You're Charlie's mother I presume?"_

"Yes."

"_An awfully complicated system you've got going on here, I thought I'd called the wrong number when I got through to reception."_

"It's a big company Willy Wonka's running here, we're only a small part of it. Now… is there anything you needed Mr Bian?" Charlie wished there was some way he could get closer to listen without making it too obvious, but with his ankle the way it was, that didn't seem possible. He berated himself on his nosiness, and had to be content on asking his mother what it was about afterwards.

"_Please, call me Lesley,"_ the headmaster said. _"I wanted to call to enquire about Charlie's state of health, and to ask when you think he'll be back at school. The police phoned us about it, since the incident happened just out of school hours."_

"Charlie got out of hospital yesterday, but he's still not well… it was absolutely dreadful that way those boys attacked him, Charlie's friend had his leg broken, and to the best of my knowledge, I'm pretty sure he's still in hospital… I hope those horrible boys who did this are being punished." She looked over to Charlie with a worried motherly look. Charlie tried his best to look uninterested in the one-sided conversation he was listening too. It was hard not to be interested when you heard someone talking about you, but you don't know exactly what they're saying. Plus, being a child living in a factory full of chocolate didn't help ones curiosity levels.

"_I don't know too much about it I'm afraid, but as far as I know, the police have been around all of their houses to try and sort this mess out. Once they know a bit more, they can press charges. However… I wouldn't worry too much about Martin Spoons, even without the law he seems to have got his just desserts already. Do you believe in karma Mrs Bucket?"_

Looking puzzled by the unfolding events, she said; "Can't say I do. I don't really go in for that sort of thing."

"_Perhaps you'll reconsider after I tell you this- Martin's in the hospital as well. He's very very ill. They don't know what's wrong with him, but it's quite serious. There doesn't seem to be any improvement either, the doctors are starting to think… sorry, I shouldn't really be telling you this."_ He stopped and gave a hesitant laugh. There came a silence on the line, the only sound of his breathing.

"Terrible," said Mrs Bucket at last, "maybe there is something to this whole karma thing after all."

"_Yes, yes. Hopefully the doctors will be wrong though, they're not always right, after all… when do you suppose Charlie will be joining us again?"_ Mrs Bucket looked over to her son who was bursting with curiosity. He knew instinctively that they were talking about him again.

"A few more days," she said, "but he'll probably have to bring his crutches even then. I don't want him to damage his ankle while it's still healing."

"_Don't worry, I completely understand Mrs Bucket. Thank you for your time, I just have to call Mrs Padell now."_

"Okay, goodbye." She put the phone down on the hook, letting out an almighty sigh. "Those teachers are more interested in attendance than a child's health," she said to herself.

"So…" said Charlie, who just couldn't hold it in any longer, "that was my head teacher, right? What did he want?"

"Basically, to nag me to send you in to school again soon." She rubbed at a tired eye. "I told him I'd send you in when you were ready."

These didn't seem to be such great fruits for such a bounty of curiosity.

"That was all?" he said, trying to keep disappointment from his voice.

"Oh," said Mrs Bucket, sitting up straight in her chair. A cloud of seriousness settled in her eyes. "Martin, he's in the hospital."

Charlie looked at her in surprise- that was one thing he hadn't expected. "What happened to him?" There was part of him that wanted to say "Good" but he pushed that down.

Mrs Bucket sat down next to him on the bed. "He's very ill, your headmaster started to say something, but decided it wasn't right to finish it. Not to me. But what I think he was trying to say, is that he's not long for this world."

It struck Charlie like a stab from an unseen knife, one that he never knew existed. 'I don't- I never liked him. I hated him, sometimes,' he thought. 'But I never wanted something like this to happen to him. Not to anybody.'

"That's horrible," he said, "it's just… horrible….what's wrong with him?"

"The doctors don't know," his mother said, looking solemn.

The door flew open, and Grandpa Joe walked in, helping Grandma Georgina, who was miraculously walking with only the aid of her walking stick. "We're back!" he called needlessly. "Gina walked all the way to the other side of the room and back without getting tired!"

A smile snapped back onto Mrs Bucket's face, as it always did in the presence of others. "That's wonderful Mum," she said.

"We saw talking toadstalls!" Georgina exclaimed, making Mrs Bucket's smile flutter slightly before she put it back into place.

So Martin was sick, dying even. Charlie questioned himself; 'Why do I care?" the only answer he got back was 'because I'm me.'

He must have some unknown disease, or at least a very rare one. But Charlie didn't know that much about diseases, nor would it really have helped if he did. But if he could, he would help Martin, even though he bullied him, teased him, even though he beat him up- because he was Charlie.

You might say; Okay, that's nice, the kid wants to help. But he can't, he's only twelve. What can he do? Well… not much, not on his own. But that's forgetting that he had a genius for a friend.

xxx

As Grandma Josephine worked on her crossword (number fourteen- I'm green, small and edible) and the rest of the family hung over to help, Charlie picked up his crutches.

"I'm going to see Mr Wonka," he announced.

"Charlie!" said his shocked mother. "You're supposed to be resting that ankle, not going gallivanting about the factory on it."

"This is important Mum," he said, standing up and putting his arms through the arm holes in the crutches.

She frowned, and silently rolled her eyes. "Fine, just don't be too long, it's getting late."

"Thanks Mum," he replied, and she stood up to hold the door open for him.

"Don't let Willy boss you into working all night with him!" she called as he hobbled off into the faintly lit room.

"I won't!" he yelled back.

"…And tell him we're having pancakes for breakfast!"

"Sure thing!"

She closed the door and turned around, pushing the hair out of her face. "You don't think I'm worrying too much, do you?" she said.

After a quick enquiry to Wonka's whereabouts from a group of Oompa Loompas who were working on shutting down production for the night, and an even quicker elevator ride, he arrived at the corridor that led to Wonka's office, which was where the man himself should be. He knocked on the door, and hearing a sing-song "Come in!" he entered. The door creaked loudly as he pushed it, and he shut it swiftly behind him.

Wonka was smiling up at Charlie from behind the neatly stacked piles of paperwork on his desk. "Nice to see you're up and about again," he said. "I haven't seen yer all day. I came by for breakfast, but you were still in the land of nod." Not waiting for a reply, he enquired; "How are ya feeling? Ankle still giving you jip?"

"A little," said Charlie, "mostly when press down my foot or touch it, apart from that it's not too bad."

Wonka looked him up and down, his eyes coming to rest on the damaged ankle which was currently floating in mid-air. "Well whaddya doing standing around fer then? Come sit down," he said, standing up and helping him over to a leather armchair.

"Can I sit on that one instead?" said Charlie, pointing from under the arm holes of his crutches to the lazy lying sofa where Wonka had his therapist sessions.

"Knock yourself out kid," Wonka helped him sit down upon it, then he himself took the armchair.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you while you're doing something important." Charlie looked over to the piles of paperwork.

"Nah, it's just the copyright forms for the hair toffee. Dull, dull stuff. It can wait."

"You know, this always reminds me of one of those chair-sofa thingys those therapist people use." He rubbed his hand along the leather material. "What do you use it for?"

"Just for sitting," said Wonka, his eyes on the cuckoo clock on the wall. "You know I like odd things."

Charlie took off his crutches and swung his legs onto the sofa, laying down and pulling on a troubled patient look. He had an idea.

Wonka cracked a smile, though he felt incredibly strange watching Charlie. It had always been him lying in that seat.

"Doctor, I have a problem," said Charlie in a mock anguished voice. Wonka's eyebrows went up to greet his fringe.

"You better tell me what it is then," he said.

In another time, another place, where Mrs Bucket hadn't had that telephone call, and where Charlie had mustered up the courage to do it, he might have said; "My problem is that I love you. My only cure will be your lips on mine." But this was Earth, Charlie didn't have the amount of uncaring courage that would be necessary to say such a provocative thing, and right now, there were bigger fish to fry.

"I know someone who's very sick, who might even die."

One. Two. Three. The mood became serious. Charlie sat up.

"It's not one of your grandparents, is it?" said Wonka, not cottoning on to who it might be.

"No, no!" said Charlie, shrinking at the very possibility. "It's not as bad as that. Me and this person, we don't even get along very well. Actually… we don't like each other at all."

"Then… why does it bother you so much?" He was starting to get a bad feeling in his gut about this.

Charlie looked surprised he even asked. "Why wouldn't it?" he said, "just because I don't like someone doesn't mean I want them to… to-to die."

Wonka was frowning; things really didn't seem to be looking his way. Had he really gotten everything so wrong?

"Is this someone I know?" he said. He was ninety-nine percent sure he knew what his answer would be, but he couldn't let Charlie in on that, not from his reaction. 'I know nothing about this,' he reminded himself.

"I've told you about him before, his name's Martin Spoons."

"The boy who attacked you and your friend?" Once again, already knowing the answer.

"Yeah… that's him."

He had to bring the boy round to his own line of reasoning.

"You know, they say only the good die young. It's only fair some of the bad die young too, don'cha think?"

"You mean you won't help?" said Charlie desperately, leaning forward and digging his nails into the sofa. Wonka was taken aback by this suggestion.

"…Help?" he said.

"You're a genius, aren't you? If you can come up with toffee that grows your hair as long as you want and ice cream that never melts then surely- _surely _you'll be able to fix him."

"I'm not a doctor Charlie," 'nor would I help him even if I was.'

"Please Mr Wonka… can't you at least try?"

Wonka was now completely puzzled by Charlie's response. He'd expected him to be happy, or at least indifferent to the whole thing. He'd never be bothered by the bully again, and here he was,** begging** for Wonka to fix him. He felt like a child whose homework he worked and worked on for hours was given a D by an ungrateful teacher. He felt irritated.

"No I cannot Charlie, and I do wish you'd stop bugging me about it. There is **nothing** I can do for him."

"But- but-" stammered the boy.

"But nothing! Now excuse me, I have a lot of work to do. I don't have time to waste by listening to ridiculous little boys with ridiculous ideas. Now go home!" He stood up angrily and went back to his desk, scribbling furiously on a piece of paper.

Charlie sat with his mouth open, feeling very upset. He blinked his tears back, put on his crutches, and quickly left the room as silently as he could.

Wonka stopped his furious writing, and let his pencil drop with a clatter onto the desk. He sighed in irritation, and put his head in his hands. "Why d'ya have to go and say something like that Charlie?" he said in a quiet voice.

He thought for a moment, then performed the Oompa Loompa call. Half a minute later, a little man was standing by his feet, tugging at his trouser leg. "Ah, hello," he said downheartedly, "get me the antidote to the hornswangler poison… I suppose."

The Oompa Loompa looked at him curiously.

"Yes, yes, I know," Wonka said, "I don't like to go back on my choices… but maybe this time it isn't worth it to be stubborn. Just get me the antidote already will ya?"

The Oompa Loompa bowed and dashed off. When he returned, he held a tiny square bottomed glass vial in his hands. He passed it over to Wonka and left. The man turned the vial over in his fingers, bringing it close to his face and examining the transparent and luminous green liquid inside.

"I'm only doing this for you," he said, and he snatched up his coat from the back of the chair, setting off out the door.


	13. Chapter 13

_Chapter XIII- A Ripple in the Water_

While, to outsiders, the Oompa Loompas put up a united front, nothing could really have been further from the truth. In their community, there were factions and disputes, arguments, giant rows, the occasional blood feud. A non-Loompa would know nothing of this; even Wonka had only grasped the outer shell of it. It rarely ended up in an argument descending into violence however. After being killed so much by the vicious animals of Loompa land, there was an unspoken agreement that no more blood needed to be shed. Though those days were gone, this still stood.

The tribe was divided into eight clans, each ruled by its own clan-chief. There was one high chief, who ruled over all eight, but his power had dwindled so much of late that he was more of a trophy chief than anything else. He conducted the meetings, but had no real power in them. His only real duty was to attempt to sort out any problems in the community brought forward to him, though really, this was quite a duty.

To try and make the Oompa Loompas feel at home, Wonka had replicated their village back in Loompa land. Since then however the Oompa Loompas themselves had made some modifications. While some stuck religiously to the traditional huts, others embraced the new exciting modern styles that were now all around them. Some had just altered the huts; painting them vibrant colours, adding in glass windows and hanging socks from the entrances. (The whole 'stocking' and 'Father Christmas' thing had confused them.) But some had built themselves completely new houses on the mock-forest floor. There were cottages, ground-huts, even sleek minimalist glass-built houses. Wonka wasn't sure what to think last time he'd seen it all, it was a mess- but it was a magnificent mess. At any rate, he was glad he'd given them the building equipment and materials they'd asked for instead of their weekly pay- it was always interesting seeing what they'd do.

Tonight was the chiefs monthly meeting where they discussed any grievances and news, then either had a blazing row, or got drunk on cocoa juice and had brilliant time. It often depended on whether there was enough cocoa juice to go around.

It took place in the high chief's hut, which was of the traditional variety. The eight chiefs sat on woven mats on the floor, with the high chief raised on a chair. He took a long draught from the cocoa smoking pipe and breathed out a gentle puff of brown smoke. Chimes jingled from the next hut. He passed the pipe along. The high chief raised his hands and gestured in native Loompa, because, of course, English was only for one dealt with the tall people. It was, in their opinion, much too of a difficult language to speak all the time. They knew their language was much more sophisticated and intelligent than the drabble other people in the world spoke. The Oompa Loompas didn't have much (this mostly due to the whangdoodles eating or destroying everything they _did_ have) so as a result they were stubbornly proud of the little which remained.

"Sengal," the high chief said, addressing a grumpy looking Loompa to his left. "I have… five complaints here about you- all from the same person." He held up a sheaf of papers, all with a strange symbolic language scribbled over them.

Sengal puffed at the smoking pipe and reluctantly passed it along. "Ignore him," he said, annoyance in his gestures. "He's a cheat. I saw him slip that red stone out of his pocket in our game- I don't owe him anything." He ended with a flourish, emphasising his last words with an extra vigorous sweep of the arm.

"Nevertheless… please do try and sort this out. There are enough feuds going on here without one of our own clan chiefs starting one. I had to sort out eleven disputes today, one of which almost ended in the damage of some of the factory equipment," said the high chief.

"Ah, that was Clarence and Sarah, yes?" said an old clan chief with extremely thick curls of grey hair that obscured his face. "They are from my clan. I believe they were arguing over whether the Clarence boy had remembered to turn the valve that controls the pressure for the chocolate river. Sarah thought it would blow the whole factory up."

"I don't remember hearing any explosions today; which is odd in itself."

"It turned out Sarah was wrong in the end. Nasty temper, that one. She was embarrassed when she found out the boy had done it though."

"Well…that's what you get when you let a woman to a man's job!" exclaimed Sengal, and some of the others laughed.

"You know, I hear Chief Wonka went out earlier," said a small Oompa Loompa with long dangly earrings.

"He's always out at night now," said another. "What are those mythological things the tall people tell stories about? They have sharp teeth… drink blood."

Everyone thought.

"Vampires," he said in English, before reverted to Loompa. "I don't think we have a word for them. We ought to make one sometime. Anyway…Chief Wonka must be becoming one of them, he always seems to be out on these 'night flights' of his."

"It'll do him good to go outside, he's too pale," said the high chief.

"Not at this time of night it won't. I don't think I'll ever get used to how early it gets dark here. It feels strange." The youngest looking chief sighed poetically.

"Does anyone know exactly where he _does_ go?" asked the high chief.

"Last night he went out to administer a poison he'd had made to a boy called Martin Spoons, tonight, he went to administer the antidote." This was all said by a new speaker, a hunched old Loompa with extremely overgrown toenails.

"Poison!" The high chief laughed. "I never knew what a sneaky old devil he was. He must have learnt it from us! Tell me though, how did you find this all out?"

"I have a woman in my clan named Doris, she's the head of administration."

"Oh yes, I've heard wind of her before," said the high chief. "Apparently she's on first name terms with Chief Wonka."

"That's right, she probably one of the Loompas who knows him best. A bit of a mother figure to him, I think. If you remember, she stood up and defended him when all that… unpleasant business came to light a few weeks ago." There was a cough, and an uncomfortable pause. "She likes to keep tabs on him. I don't know how she does it, whether she has him followed, just asks him, or does something to the elevator to record everywhere he's been. But she always seems to know what he's up to."

"That's a little scary, actually," said the young Loompa.

"Yes, well… at least we know what he's up to because of it. We Loompas are too nosy for our own good, but at least we admit it." So said the long toenailed chieftain.

"Why do you suppose Chief Wonka gave a poison to someone… and then cured it the next day?" said the young one. "That doesn't sound like him."

"Maybe he just wanted to scare them?" piped in another.

The long toenailed chief shook his head, sending his earrings jangling.

"All I know is that he was with his heir in his office before he set out to the hospital."

"The boy is somehow always involved," sighed the high chief. "It's as though everything Chief Wonka does these days is linked backed to him, as though the child has some sort of spell over him."

"You know my feelings on this matter, Chief," the ever sour-faced Sengal said.

"Yes I do, which is why we're not going onto that line of discussion again tonight. Nothing new has surfaced, so there's nothing new to discuss."

Everyone shifted uncomfortably on their mats.

"Right, next on the agenda…" he held up a list with more strange Loompa symbols. "An Edmund of clan Sander has reported his 'new cocoa bean patterned curtains' as stolen. H says-"

They carried on like this for the next three hours, before ending on a blazing row about who had smoked the last cocoa in the smoking pipe, after which they all stormed out. The high chief was left to sort out the mess in his house, muttering angrily under his breath about what a waste of good cocoa it was.

x

In the chocolate room, Charlie laid miserably, back in his grandparents bed. He couldn't understand what he'd done wrong. He and Wonka had been getting along so well- and now he felt as though they were back to square one. He'd somehow tripped over a snake and fallen all the way back down to the bottom. And even worse, it was all because of _Martin. _If he wasn't dying, he'd hate the selfish bully even more than he did before.

But, he wondered, maybe it was his own fault. He had nagged at Wonka a lot, and he _was_ a busy man, no matter what he said. Perhaps he should apologise, he was sure Wonka would forgive him. He just wanted to do something, anything to stop the painful empty feeling in his chest. After much tossing and turning, he fell asleep.

The next morning he was up bright and early, rubbing tiredness from his eyes. The house was silent, even the sleeping grandparents beside him didn't snore. There was no noise from his parents; they were evidently still asleep. He looked over to the clock- it was barely six in the morning. Remembering his thoughts from last night, he swiftly clambered out of bed, being careful not to kick Grandpa George in the face. He took hold of his crutches and left the house, shutting the door as quietly as he could behind him.

Without a second thought Charlie got into the elevator and pressed the button to Wonka's rooms, all the while hoping he wasn't up yet. He watched the rooms outside the glass flash by as they ascended. The first few Oompa Loompas were up, setting the machines to work and starting the daily production. They raised their hands in greeting to the boy heir, and Charlie waved back, recognising a few he'd worked with before. The elevator stopped with a bump as it reached Wonka's quarters. The doors opened and Charlie stepped out apprehensively, remembering the disastrous consequences last time he'd visited.

He walked through the dizzying corridor, avoiding the bizarre chunks of wall sticking out that seemed to change position every time he looked the other way. He reached the room at the end and looked through the keyhole. It was silent inside, nothing was moving and the light was off. He thought for a moment, before taking a seat on the floor next to Wonka's door. He sat and fiddled with his fingers, playing a game where he saw how long he could look at the wall without getting dizzy. He had to stop pretty soon however, closing his eyes to stop the corridor spinning. It felt as though two motorcyclists were riding up the insides of his head while trying to do handstands. Sometime after- though he never knew it- he dozed off, head lolling onto his shoulder as he fell into a light sleep.

Nine o'clock. Doris lowered her watch hand and carried on up the (so-called) secret passageway that led to Wonka's rooms. She had more documents the admin team had written up; all the chocolatier had to do was sign them. She turned into the corridor, jumping back as a wall darted out in front of her.

"Won't you things ever behave yourselves?" she exclaimed. "If you keep this up I'll have Willy replace you with concrete, you hear me? **Concrete**!"

The wall shrank back.

"Good," she said, "now let's keep it that way!" She strode forward determinedly, looking straight towards Wonka's bedroom. She raised her hand and was about to knock when she noticed a small movement in the corner of her eye. Puzzled, she looked around, ready to yell at the wall again for playing tricks on her. Instead she saw Charlie snoozing, leant up against the wall in the corner. He was slowly waking up, most likely because of Doris's confrontation with the devious wall. He opened his eyes and stared blearily at Doris.

"Well hello there young Mr Bucket," she said to him, looking quizzical. "I don't imagine it's very comfortable down there, surely you'd prefer your own bed?"

Charlie blinked at her for a few seconds longer before he realised he was awake, and the reason why he was sat there.

"Oh! Uh- hullo!" he said, cheeks turning pink. "I was just- I mean-I-uh… Have I seen you somewhere before?"

"I dare say you have, though I'm impressed if you remember me. My name's Doris, I work in administration." If felt odd that while she had discussed this very boy so often, they'd never actually spoken before. She felt a little awkward, if truth be told. She knew Wonka's greatest secret regarding this boy, and here he was, right before her.

"Ah," he said thoughtfully as the blush faded away. "I think I know where I remember you from. Mr Wonka introduced you on the tour."

"You really recall such a little thing from such a long time ago? It must be well over two years now since then."

"It was…kind of an unforgettable day." He smiled distantly, thinking far back.

"Yes, I suppose so," she said. "But really, why are you here? You haven't been here all night, have you?" She gave him a look he couldn't interpret.

"No, no. I only got here a few minutes ago… at least, I think I did. What time is it?"

"Just past nine," she said without looking at her watch.

"What?" Charlie said, aghast. "I must have been asleep for… for four hours! I didn't even know I went to sleep…"

"You were up early," Doris said, a questioning tone clear in her voice. "There isn't any sneaking around going on here, is there?"

"No, definitely no sneaking around Miss Doris. I just wanted to talk to Mr Wonka, so I thought I'd get up early and catch him when he woke up."

"Had a sudden brainwave for an idea and couldn't hold it in any longer, could you?" she said, though not churlishly.

Charlie looked at the tiny woman standing in front of him, and he found that he didn't want to lie.

"Actually," he said, "I came to say sorry. I disturbed him when he was working yesterday and he got mad at me. I feel bad about it, so…"

Doris laughed.

"You ought just to ignore him. When Willy gets mad he's really usually just in strop. You don't need to apologise to him."

"You sound like you know him really well," Charlie said, a little surprised. He'd never heard any of the Oompa Loompas address his Mr Wonka as 'Willy' before. Usually they called him 'sir', 'Chief Wonka' or something else equally formal sounding.

"That's because I do. And I'll tell you this free of charge- Willy might have the body of an adult, the power and skill of much more than an adult, but in spirit he's no older than you child. So if he says something hurtful to you, or acts childishly, try to forgive him, won't you? You mean a lot to him."

"He told you that?" asked Charlie, whose wide eyes had now grown to the size of saucers.

"That's right, he's told me a lot more too, but that isn't my place to say." She winked at him, leaving him feeling even more puzzled.

"So you- you know almost everything about him?"

"Not even close, I doubt even he knows everything about himself. I know a fair bit though. We get a long quite well, except for when he insists on running away every time he sees me."

"Are you sure you haven't forgotten you started a game of tag?"

"I'm sure," she said, laughing.

"Why does he run away then?"

"He doesn't like excepting any help, he thinks he can do everything on his own. By the time he finds out he can't, he's usually in far too deep. He's made some huge messes in his time, you know."

Charlie crinkled his brow thoughtfully. "It's strange," he said. "You think you know someone perfectly well and then it turns out you're totally wrong."

Your view of Willy is as right as mine, Charlie. People just have a lot of layers to them; it takes a long time to see them all. There's also the idea of perception, everyone sees someone differently from somebody else." She shifted the folder full of documents in her hands to make it more comfortable.

"Sounds awfully complicated to me. It'd be much easier if everyone just picked a way to act and then stuck to it," said Charlie.

"Don't worry, you'll get it eventually. You're a smart boy."

Charlie scratched his head cautiously, laughing a little. "I'm not smart Miss Doris, I'm just normal."

"Now, now, don't degrade yourself. You won the factory, didn't you? You beat those other children."

"Yeah, but that wasn't anything to do with being smart. It was just because I was nice and didn't do anything Mr Wonka said not to."

"I'd say that made you the smartest out of the lot of them. I'd say someone who is kind to others, respects his elders and is creative as you are is far smarter than anyone who can do… say, silly quadratic equations. In the world we live in today, being kind is the only real intelligence." When she'd finished, she left Charlie blinking, and this time it was nothing to do with tiredness.

"Um, well…thanks," he stammered.

"And thus ends the philosophy for today. Now, do you know if Willy is still in his room? I need to give these to him and carry on with that report." She peered into the crack at the side of the door. "Hm, no light on. Must be still asleep, the lazy bum."

Charlie stood up, stretching to get rid of the cramped feeling from being on the floor so long. His legs felt like they'd gone numb.

"Perhaps we should come back later?" he said.

"Nonsense," said Doris. "He ought to be up by now anyway. It's his own fault if he oversleeps." With that, she knocked loudly at the door.

No reply.

"He really must be deeply asleep," she said, "let's go in."

"Uh, are you sure?" asked Charlie anxiously.

"Yes, yes. Don't worry so much. If he shouts at you again I'll change his name to Where's Wally on all the shipment forms, alright?"

Charlie smiled. "Alright."

He opened the door slowly, peering inside. Doris walked between his legs into the room and up towards the bed.

"He's not here," she said. "I bet he's been up in one of his other rooms messing around for hours."

"You mean those ones outside? Like the one with chocolate ball pit, behind all those strange looking doors?" said Charlie, repressing a groan.

"That's right, and I bet I know which one he'll be in."

She went back into the corridor with Charlie and knocked on the purple plastic door, which leant slightly to the side. A muffled reply came from inside, and Charlie slumped in exasperation.

'He must have been in there all along,' he thought in irritation. 'And all this time I've been waiting outside his bedroom for nothing.'

"Charlie, could you…?" prompted Doris, gesturing towards the door. "Willy forgets we can't reach the door handle sometimes."

"Oh, yes. Sorry." He pulled open the door, shrinking away to let Doris through. He poked his head around the corner. It looked familiar inside, and he remembered why. This was the first place he'd checked when he'd gone to find Wonka before. It was the upside down room. Wonka was there, sitting in his pyjamas on the roof. The fire was lit, and he was curled up on the sofa looking quite comfortable.

Doris was already on the ceiling, though he had no idea how she'd got up there. The upside-down Wonka tiredly put down his book on his lap, blinking to get his eyes to focus. Charlie couldn't help but notice that when Wonka saw it was her, he jerked a little, like a cat when it gets its fur up.

"Ah, hello Doris," he said, his voice normal, albeit very tired. "This book's just so darn good I couldn't put it down."

"You've been reading all night?" Doris asked, putting the folder down on the sofa next to him.

"Not all night, I had an errand to run as well. What's that?"

"More fun things for you to sign. I know you love autographs."

"Oh goody," he said, pulling out the paper inside the folder and pulling a face.

"I wondered where you were when I saw you weren't asleep. Charlie was looking for you as well, he's been waiting outside your door for hours waiting for you to wake up, you know." She laughed a little.

"Charlie?" questioned Wonka, rubbing at his eyes tiredly.

"He's down there," said Doris, and she pointed to where Charlie was lurking unsurely in the doorway. "Come on up Charlie."

"Um… how?" he asked, feeling daft.

"Just walk into the room," she said, a smile dancing on her face. Wonka craned his neck to look down at the floor, his face expressionless.

"Um…" Charlie muttered, biting his lip. He looked at the floor in front of him, where a lamp stood on a string hanging upwards. Carefully, he took one step forward. It happened so quickly he didn't notice, one minute he was on the floor, next he was on the roof, jerking from the suddenness of it all. It felt absolutely normal, as though he was still on the ground. But he knew he couldn't be, since to him, it looked as though the door was on the wall next to the roof!

"If I send someone over tomorrow to pick these up, do you think you'll be done?" Doris said.

"Yes, I suppose so," said Wonka, and this was followed by an almighty yawn.

"You ought to get some sleep tonight or you'll kill yourself. No more midnight 'errands'."

"Yes 'mother'." Wonka said, rolling his eyes.

"The way you go on, I feel like it sometimes," said Doris, and she walked past Charlie into the wall, appearing in the doorway on the floor and disappearing out of it.

They were alone in the room.

"Mr Wonka, I-" Charlie began, but he was cut off by his mentor.

"Come sit by the fire Charlie, ya look as pale as anything. You didn't really wait for me fer hours in that sneaky corridor, didja?" He sat up properly to make space on the sofa, remembering to move the folder, and patted the space next to him.

"Well, yes, but-"

"You must be frozen to death boy, now come sit down."

Charlie gave up, and sat down on the comfortable sofa next to Wonka, though he still felt as stiff and un-relaxed as a board. He was wondering if the man had forgotten what had happened the previous day, he certainly didn't seem to from his warm (though maybe a little rude) manner. That made Charlie feel a little bit better, though he still thought he should apologise. Doris had said not to, but it seemed peculiar to act on advice given by a person one hardly knew.

"Mr Wonka," he started again. "I'm sorry I kept bugging you like I did yesterday, I didn't mean to disturb your work. I know you're not a doctor as well, it's just… I know this is silly…. but sometimes I really think you really can do anything."

They fell silent, and Wonka looked his heir in the eye. "You don't need to say sorry," he said, "sometimes I think I can do anything as well. I shouldn't have shouted at ya really." He struggled with something inside, clenching his perfect white teeth together as he thought wildly. "I'm sorry too," he said, and the words were almost like a sigh of relief released into the air.

"You don't need to say that Mr Wonka," Charlie said quietly. "You haven't done anything wrong."

"I have," said Wonka, who seemed to be dealing with the difficult notion of apologising better now he was in full flow. "I haven't treated my heir with the respect he deserves, and he deserves all the respect I have." He touched Charlie on the shoulder, and the boy tingled with delight.

"Really?" he said, thinking such words of praise from his beloved chocolatier too good to be true.

"Really really," said Wonka, and the boy gave a huge tooth-filled smile and hugged him as hard as he could.

All at once, Charlie thought he felt something. It wasn't something physical, but was something spiritual. It was as though his fingers had brushed the end of a cord or string as he moved. Just the briefest of touches. He realised at once what it must be.

"Mr Wonka," he said, still in the embrace.

"Mm?" said the man.

"There's something I need to tell you, something important."

There was a spotlight on them that excluded everything else, it was as though only they existed. Charlie's heart beat faster than it had ever beaten in his life. All noise had gone; he couldn't even hear the crackle of flames on the white ash-covered logs.

Wonka pulled out of the embrace. "What is it? Is something wrong?" Their eyes met, and the moment was suddenly, irreplaceably lost. Charlie's throat closed up, he couldn't even remember what he was trying to say. He felt mesmerised and spellbound, with those worried, brilliant purple eyes on him.

"I-I-I… I mean… um, it's- it-s…" he stuttered, his throat feeling as though someone had rammed a plug in it. "It-it's nothing."

Wonka looked at him, and frowned. "It doesn't sound like nothing to me," he said.

"It is. I mean- it's not anything, because it's nothing." The man gave him a look of disbelief. "Okay," admitted Charlie, "it's not nothing…b-but I can't tell you, not now."

"Charlie, I don't know what's going on, but you can tell me anything, yeah? I don't know if I'm giving out the persona that I'm no good at talking about serious stuff, but I'll be serious if you want, alright?"

Charlie shook his head, though even he himself wasn't sure what it was supposed to mean. He just couldn't trust himself to speak.

"I won't laugh at whatever it is. Is that why yer worried? Cuz I promise I won't laugh if you don't want me to."

"It's not that," said Charlie quickly. "I just… I can't say it yet. It- it's hard…"

Wonka frowned some more, pondering what could have agitated his apprentice so much and so quickly to change his mood. He looked as though he was bursting to say something, but he just couldn't form the words to say it in.

"I'm not gonna pressure you," said Wonka. "So… just come to me when you're ready to talk. You'll probably find out you were worrying yourself for nothing in the end."

Charlie gave a great sigh.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I don't even know what I'm doing any more. I think I'm going to go back home now."

"Okay then," Wonka said, giving him a cheerful clap on the back. "Don't worry about it too much."

"Bye Mr Wonka," he said sadly, and he slowly walked towards the wall where he'd seen Doris go out. As he touched it, he appeared on the floor. He waved to Wonka and went out, all the while desperately wondering 'Why is this so hard?'

x

It wasn't until the day after the next that Charlie went back to school. He was an old wounded soldier, back to greet his old comrades. He'd had more time to think by this, both think and plan. But he pushed that aside for the moment to get on with the school day. He expected lots of catch-up work from his teachers, lots of catch-up talk from his two friends, and he expected lots of trouble getting up and down the school steps on his crutches. But what did happen, that was what he would have never expected.

He was sitting in his form room with Sam and Rowan, the latter of which was amazingly already back, though he did look very unsteady on his feet. He and Sam were signing Rowan's cast, having fun doodling little pictures on it when a girl from one of the higher years came inside and told the teacher there was a whole school assembly.

The class trudged obediently to the hall, taking seats at the back. The headmaster came out onto the stage and began talking, saying that one of their 'cherished' students had been taken extremely ill a few days ago and had gone to hospital, but then- miraculously- he had began to recover. On that same day, however, the headmaster explained, he had caught a hospital superbug, and weakened by his illness, Martin Spoons had died anyway.


	14. Chapter 14

_Chapter XIV- Hope_

The small sugar daisy stood innocently in a patch of thick swuldge; white petals open in full bloom. It was motionless, still, frozen. Not buffeted about by any breeze a normal flower would be subjected too, for there was none in the Chocolate Room. And in just a few moments, its short sweet and sugary life would come to an end.

A small finger and thumb clasped the stem of the daisy, nail pressing against it. Liquid sugar dropped onto the nail as it severed the stem, and Charlie Bucket tossed the flower into his other hand.

"Do you think you have nearly enough yet Mum?" he asked his mother who was sitting busily on the grass threading flowers into a daisy chain.

"Hm…I think so," she said, adding another flower to the ever-growing link. "There." She tied the two ends together and plopped the circlet on her son's head.

"Mum," he complained, quickly taking it off. "I think it'd look better on you, honest." On his knees, he bent up and put it on Mrs Bucket, where it nestled perfectly between her waves of hair.

She giggled, "Alright. I'm sorry."

The task done, Charlie laid down, rolling the daisy about from the stem in his fingers. His face took on a melancholy expression.

Mrs Bucket, divining his thoughts, gave him a sympathetic look. "Try not to think about it," she said, "there was nothing you could have done."

"I know," said Charlie sadly. "I just wish things could have been different. Martin didn't deserve to die." His mother put a comforting hand on his shoulders; she couldn't think of anything to say. "There was so much I didn't know about him while he was alive! Rowan told me everything today, why Martin hated him, everything. He said he and Martin were best friends at primary school, and they had been for ages and ages. But some mean kids started bullying Rowan and Martin tried to stop them, but that meant he got caught up with it too. He must have resented it or something, cuz I think it was him who started the rumour that Rowan was gay last year." He thought back to the morning, and the dead silence that had followed the headmaster Mr Bian's speech. "Rowan's going to his funeral next week… it just seems so silly and sad. Because Martin was bullied, he became a bully himself. I don't think I'll ever understand how some people can do something like that."

Mrs Bucket fixed her son with a long affectionate look and enveloped him in an embrace. "That's because you're a kind caring boy, Charlie, and we love you for it."

Charlie looked down at the swuldge embarrassedly.

"That boy Martin made a big mistake by doing what he did," said Charlie's mother. "Two wrongs never make a right. But don't resent him for it Charlie, its bad luck to disrespect the dead, and doing that would only start the cycle all over again, and then who knows where it would end?"

"I won't," said Charlie, "I don't think I ever could."

Mrs Bucket ruffled his hair cheerfully. "Good boy," she said, and she stood up, wiping the loose grass away from her backside. "I'm going to go in now and check on your grandparents, will you be alright out here by yourself?"

"I'll be fine," he replied.

"See you later then."

Part of the way back to the house she met Mr Bucket, who Charlie had watched come in via the main door. He sat with a subdued look on his face as his parents greeted each other with a loving kiss and made their way to their little home, Mr Bucket pointing perplexedly at the daisy chain in her hair. Charlie let the flower in his fingers drop, thinking of his own dilemma. 'How ever am I going to do this?' he thought hopelessly.

Meanwhile, across the factory in his Inventing Room, Wonka was having an explosive time. He wasn't trying to make anything in particular; he was just experimenting with a few new ingredients. In the Garden Room, where Wonka grew all the strange plants he used in his chocolate, a feathery looking plant with purple leaves had become fully grown. Like so many of the things growing there, he'd found it in Loompaland, bringing back spores from an existing plant so he could grow his own. He was only just finding out what it could do in terms of taste or side effects, but it seemed to be very temperamental. Hence the small explosions that rocked the room at intervals, sending the Oompa-Loompas flying.

It didn't help that his mind wasn't completely on target that day; when making candy he required one-hundred percent concentration. But his mind kept drifting to other things, and twice already he'd almost poured the wrong bottle into the simmering pot of featherweed (for that was what the Oompa-Loompa's called it) and caught himself just in time.

He kept thinking to himself of several days ago, when Charlie had almost disclosed to the man something very serious that was bothering him. He just couldn't think what it was. But the more he thought, the more he realised that the boy _had_ been acting peculiarly on and off for weeks now. He'd been so caught up with his own troubles that he hadn't even thought of anyone else's. Charlie had become more withdrawn, he found, and he couldn't even count the number of times he'd caught the boy staring off into pace, his lips drawn down at the corners ever so subtly. He had thought the boy was just thinking about candy ideas, or brooding over his problems at school. But Charlie had been acting differently even before the problems with the bullies. The whole atmosphere around the factory had changed, and he hadn't even noticed it.

Wonka grabbed a bottle filled with pink powder and spooned some in, willing himself to concentrate as he measured it out exactly. A worried Oompa-Loompa glanced his way, grabbing hold of one of the machines discreetly should another explosion break out.

The chocolatier remembered when Charlie had told him how he 'liked' a girl in his class; it seemed an age now since then. Charlie hadn't said anything else about it, and Wonka got the instinctive feeling that this wasn't about her. This was something bigger than a crush on the pretty girl who sat on the desk on the front row.

He'd asked Charlie about it once after the near-confession, but the boy had just shaken his head, saying, in the soft voice Wonka loved that it was 'too soon'.

Perhaps it would be better just to wait for Charlie to come to him. 'But,' he thought, mixing the huge pot with an equally huge spoon, 'he might never. The boy's too much of a worrywart.'

He took a careful lick on the spoon, his jaw set in the concentration of his thoughts. "Ugh!" he exclaimed, resisting the overwhelming compulsion to retch. The Oompa-Loompas giggled quietly. "How much sugar did I put in this?" he said to himself, quickly pouring something else in and stirring vigorously.

'I wouldn't hurt to ask him again.' The thought floated across his mind unbidden. He shook his head in frustration, irritated by his own lack of will to concentrate. In a flurry he tossed ingredients into the pot, barely stopping to read the labels. He was rewarded by the mixture bubbling up and throwing him back in a giant puff of purple. He lay blinking on the ground, wiping a purple powder substance that had congealed to his face from his eyes. The Oompa-Loompas, who were out of harms way, all burst out into fits of laughter. Wonka threw his hands down in defeat. 'I give up,' he thought. 'I'll just go see him.'

After some quick instructions to the highly amused Loompa workers, and a quick shower and change of clothes, he made the familiar route back to the Chocolate Room. He spied out his heir lying on the grass near a big toadstool, waving his feet about in the air with a withdrawn look upon his features. Seeing the boy like that only strengthened his feeling that he was doing the right thing. He wouldn't ask him then and there, for he perceived that whatever secret Charlie harboured so deep within his heart, he didn't want everyone knowing it. 'Everyone' meaning the Oompa-Loompas, since they were absolutely everywhere and could gossip at the speed of light. Though he couldn't deny himself harbouring a secret motive in his own heart. It would mean he'd get to be alone with Charlie, a rare occurrence in the factory. He peered at the sullen boy lounging in the world he'd created, thinking that he looked even cuter for that sad look of his. And that, if the boy should feel upset after he told him this 'secret' of his, he'd be happy to wipe away his tears and give him a little cuddle and kiss. At this however, Wonka wondered whatever was becoming of him.

Charlie was so lost in thought that he didn't even notice Wonka until he sat down next to him and said, "Heya Starshine, yah still so glum?"

The boy gave a sort of twitch in surprised and his head swivelled round on his shoulders to face the source of noise. He quickly sat up.

"Ah- sorry sir! I didn't see you there."

Wonka smiled and said nothing, instead reaching out his hand slowly towards Charlie, and carefully plucking a ruffled looking daisy with some of its petals bent or missing from his hair.

"You haven't been doing 'she loves me, she loves me not' now have ya?" he asked, showing off all his perfect teeth in a wide grin.

"Uh, of course not sir, I just dropped it earlier and I guess I got caught up- I mean I guess _it_ got caught up in my hair when I-ah- laid down." The man seemed to have a magnificent technique for making him embarrassed. It got results every time.

"Ya know," began the chocolatier, resting his elbows on his knees. "Production for the Bubbletastic Balls starts in a few days. Eustace put the finishing touches on the wrappers and they're all ready to go. I've got a new room for 'em, the Oompa Loompas are setting up the machinery in there now. I don't know what to call the room yet though, so I'd be sure glad if you had any ideas."

Charlie felt honoured Wonka had even asked him; he'd never got to name a room before. "What about… um… what about 'The attack of the bubble kind?'"

Wonka swung an ostentatious finger up to his chin, and a fire lit up on his eyes. "Yeah," he said, "that'd look great on the elevator! Right next to 'Stars in his pies' and 'Scratch and sniff'. Yeah…"

"So you're really gonna use it?" Charlie asked, excitement not just catching him, but spinning him around and throwing him into the air.

"Yeah, I think so," said Wonka, and Charlie let out a little cheer. The chocolatier looked at him, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Say Charlie, what are you doing this evening?"

He'd slip it in the conversation casually, and the boy would never figure out his intentions.

"Catch up work," said Charlie, and then the boy let out a great sigh. "Lots and lots of it. I have to make a model of a medieval castle for history, so I suppose it isn't too bad- but it's still going to take ages. Maybe I'll make it out of toothpaste caps- I've had lots of practise at that!"

Wonka gave a swift smile in reply. "What about tomorrow evening?" he asked.

Charlie inclined his head curiously. "Nothing, I think. Why do you wanna know?"

"D'ya remember when you met me up on the factory roof, about two weeks ago now?"

"Um…yup."

"Do you remember the way there?"

"The trapdoor in your office… right?"

"That's right. If you can get away from your parents, meet me there at about nine tomorrow evening." Seeing the boy's curious eyes looking at him he elaborated. "There's a full moon at the moment, and with all the crazy stuff going on I've hardly seen ya lately. It's been a long while since we had a brainstorming too; with the Bubbletastic Balls almost done we'll need some more products soon." He pulled it off flawlessly, glad that he'd planned out what he was going to say beforehand.

"Oh, well…okay then," said Charlie, still looking puzzled. Usually they just brainstormed inside the Inventing Room, but Mr Wonka was Mr Wonka, and he was never one for routine or doing things normally.

"Right. Good. Brilliant," he said quickly, giving Charlie a thumbs up. He got up off the ground. "I'm gonna go check on the Oompa-Loompas in the 'Attack of the bubble kind' room now. See you later kiddo."

Charlie grinned widely and waved to him. "Bye Mr Wonka."

As the man left, Charlie started thinking exactly what Wonka had wanted him to think, not realising he was doing so. 'We'd be alone; it'd be the perfect time to tell him…'

x

'Now, I'll go make sure the Oompa-Loompas are fitting the machines correctly in the new room, and see about getting that name on the Elevator. That'll make Charlie happy,' thought Wonka, striding over to the said Elevator. 'Those lil troublemakers know everything that's goin' on here, I dare say they might know what I'm gonna call it anyway.'

A thought struck him like a bolt of lightning, making him wonder why he hadn't thought it sooner. 'They _do _know everything. I 'spect they even know when and maybe even why Charlie started getting all sad! I'll ask them now!'

Summoning three Oompa-Loompas to his feet with the yodelling call he used, he knelt down to speak to them. He noted they were English-speaking Loompas.

"Heya guys," he said, "I need to ask yer all something. I know you're all an observant bunch, and ya might hear things I don't, so I thought you might be able to help me." They looked at him patiently. He carried on. "You see, I'm sure you've noticed how down in the dumps Charlie's been lately, so I want to hear what you know about it."

The Oompa-Loompas exchanged quiet looks. "That's a very long list you're asking for Chief Wonka," said one of them.

"What is it you're particularly asking to hear?" said another.

"Well, to start with… what's up with him today?"

"He found out that his classmate recently died. Martin Spoons." The Loompa man smiled at him knowingly.

"Oh," said Wonka, surprised. He creased his brow for a second, before it wiped itself away. "That's weird," he said in an unworried voice, labelling the matter subconsciously as 'insignificant'. He'd tried to fix the boy, if he died anyway why should it bother him? 'What a shame,' he thought, not meaning it in the slightest.

"There's something else though," said Wonka. "There's been lots of crazy stuff going on lately that's been depressing him, but I get the feelin' that there's something underneath that and it's been bothering him for a while."

The Oompa-Loompas turned to each other and gestured quickly in their native language. Wonka watched, but he could only catch a few words since they had their backs to him. When they turned around one stepped forward, saying; "It seems that way to us as well. But we haven't heard him tell any of his family why. They're worried about him though; they keep talking about him when he's out with you sir."

Wonka's suspicions were confirmed, there **was** something worrying his beloved heir. The Oompa-Loompas weren't often wrong.

"Hm… well do yer know when abouts he started getting like this?"

The tiny people conferred again.

"Some of the others in our clan told us one night over two weeks ago that the boy's parents were worrying over him. I think that was the first of it."

"D'ya know what day it was?"

"It might have been on the 2nd. It was early in the morning, shortly after they all got up."

"Did anything special happen that day? I can't remember just from the date."

"It was the same day as when he went missing sir; you had us search the factory for him."

That was also the same day Charlie had told him about his 'girl trouble' so… perhaps this really was about her? A cloud of jealous passed over his eyes.

'Hang on,' he thought, sweeping the cloud away. 'That was the weekend when that happened, so it'd logically have to be something not school related. I better not jump to any conclusions.'

"What happened the day before?" he asked.

"If you remember, Chief Wonka, that was the day you tested the Bubbletastic Balls. We had to rescue Patrick from the roof."

And, Wonka realised, it was the day when Charlie had fallen on him from the railing. He froze, going deathly pale. He dismissed the Oompa-Loompas, thanking them with a voice that seemed to squeak rather than squeak.

That day had always puzzled him, especially since it'd seemed like the boy had hugged him as he lay sprawled on the floor from catching him. It'd shocked him to the core, but he'd later dismissed it, telling himself that Charlie was disorientated and had merely grabbed him for safety.

But… the more he thought about it, the more it seemed wrong. There had been a different feeling to it, one he couldn't interpret.

Wonka stood still, his gloves squeaking on his half closed hands. Charlie **had** been different after that. He remembered now; the day after that had been the day when Charlie had seeked him out in his room. He'd been quiet and sullen, and he started at everything Wonka said. And he was sure that someone was leaning over him in his bed just before he woke up. Then there had been all those looks the boy had cast over at him when he thought the chocolatier wasn't looking.

Before that, he'd been fine. Wonka could remember sneaking glances at the boy on the railing, pretending that he didn't know he was there. He was smiling. It had been that instant, that precise _instant_ that had changed him. It wasn't anything to do with girls at school, or anything else of the sort. Something had changed in Charlie then; he'd had some sort of thought, or some sort of feeling that had transformed him from the happy child to the sullen boy he was now.

It… wouldn't be impossible for the boy to have developed an infatuation with him. Even before they met Charlie worshipped him like an idol. Now he stuck to the man like a second shadow, following him everywhere… it wouldn't be impossible.

All at once, everything clicked into place. He'd found the last piece to his puzzle- only to realise it belonged to another different puzzle entirely. The last piece went in, and he found himself numb with shock. He looked over to Charlie, where he was still sat on the grass. He had been watching Wonka curiously and quickly looked the other way when the man's eyes fell on him. Realising he'd been caught he met his eyes again and gave a shy wave. 'But it couldn't be, it wouldn't be,' thought Wonka resolutely. But as he waved back, he felt unsure. '…Could it?'


	15. Chapter 15

_Chapter XV- Advice from Others_

Though it had only been a few months ago that Wonka's feelings for Charlie Bucket had started, and a mere matter of weeks for the boy himself, the spark between them had come long before. Still standing in the Chocolate Room Wonka could now remember the moment exactly, though of course he'd thought nothing of it at the time.

It had been shortly after Charlie and his family moved in, four days after to be precise. They were getting on like a house on fire, though Charlie still seemed almost unable to take in the wondrous world he'd suddenly fallen into. Whenever Wonka showed his new heir something particularly amazing the boy couldn't help but raise his hands to his face and rub his eyes; he could hardly believe that all he was seeing was real.

That day, Wonka was showing Charlie the passages around the factory since the Elevator might not always be in use. They had followed a long corridor and just come out in a room filled almost entirely with a giant hot caramel lake, with wafts of sweetly-smelling steam rising up from it. It was edged with some exotic looking plants Charlie had never seen before, and through the steam he could hear the cawing of a foreign bird. He stepped up to the lake in awe and peered down into the bubbling caramel. Wonka bent down and put a gloved finger in it, before pulling back and licking it off. He twisted his features into all manner of expressions, before settling on a pleased look. Charlie watched him curiously, and when he was finished asked if he could try some. Wonka looked around for something to use (for as he had once said before, no human hands could touch his chocolate) and then helplessly offered the boy his hand, after dipping it back into the lake Charlie gave him a wide-eyed look, then, feeling peculiar, slowly leaned closer and gave a quick lick to the man's finger. As he did so, it brushed against the corner of Charlie's mouth and a peculiar sensation poured over him. They both felt it; it was as though a bolt of shivering electricity ran through them, exactly at the same time. They looked up and met each other in the eye- but then Charlie yelled, his foot had slipped on the ground and fallen into the caramel lake- and the moment was broken.

Like two flints striking, something had been put into motion that day. It had just taken a little longer for the tinder to catch alight, and even longer for the fire itself to start burning. But now it was going strong, and getting higher and higher every minute.

Wonka, in the present, found himself filled with a warm hopeful feeling, tempered with a little fear. But the flames had risen higher than that now, and it was swallowed up.

'Well, well, well Charlie,' he thought, seeing the boy scamper back to his house. 'If this is true, it changes… well, everything.' The flames rose higher. 'If we feel the same way, what should stop us? Nothing has ever stopped me before, why should this? I'm the boss here, I'm in charge. And I wouldn't be doing anything wrong, not if he wanted it too. I don't care what anybody else thinks… tomorrow night, I'll find out if I'm right then. I'll find out if this is what he wants.' His eyes burning, he walked away confidently to the Great Glass Elevator, and he found after that his work went far more smoothly than before.

Much too soon for Charlie, the day ended.

He didn't sleep well that night. The prospect of telling Wonka his true feelings hung over his head like the Grim Reaper wielding his scythe, and he hardly slept at all. With every toss and turn he changed his mind.

'I'll tell him… I can't… I have to… it's too hard… but I _must_.' In the end he told himself he was going to, and that was final. He'd have no arguments. Instead he changed his direction of thought to 'how' rather than 'if' and didn't allow his mind to linger any more on the former subject.

But he was scared, terribly scared. No, he wasn't even that. He was terrified. Wonka had such an inconsistent seeming personality that he didn't know what he'd do when he told him. But Charlie had to do this, even if it was just for himself. He didn't know how he'd live with himself otherwise. He'd be a coward, a coward so cowardly he couldn't even open his mouth and speak (even squeak) his feelings.

So he'd do it, even though he was scared, even though he was shaking, even if Wonka hated him for it. He had no choice in the matter.

He got out of his grandparents bed and grabbed his crutches, heading on out into the twilight Chocolate Room. It was absolutely silent. All the Oompa-Loompas, except for those who did night duty, were asleep, and right now the room was empty. Even the usual rushing noise of the waterfall was absent; since it had been switched off late in the evening. The chocolate left in the river stood still, more like a lake than anything else.

Meandering without point or reason across the grass Charlie crossed over the bridge, running his fingers across the side of it. He lent down absently and picked one of Wonka's new wild roses, bringing it up close to his face and inhaling its scent. It smelt like roses and sugar. But he thought he could detect the slightest hint of the elusive fragrance of Wonka's as well. He held the flower to his chest, as though he could get closer to the man himself by hugging close to his smell.

Very gently, he peeled the petals off one by one and popped them into his mouth. They were delicious.

The artificial light in the room had begun to get brighter, and Charlie guessed it must be around six or seven by now. To prove this true, the Oompa-Loompas started arriving, stirring the stagnant river with big sticks to loosen it up and otherwise preparing to switch the waterfall back on. Some of them called over to the boy, and he called back, realising he ought to return to the house before everyone started to wonder where he was.

"Oh hey there Charlie, I was just thinking where you'd gone," said a happy looking Mr Bucket as he came back inside. Charlie looked around for his mother; it was odd to see his father around instead of her in the morning.

"Where's Mum?" he asked.

"She's still asleep. By some miracle of nature I managed to wake up before her today, so… I thought I'd make her breakfast before I go to work! Sound good?"

Charlie nodded. "I bet Mum'll be surprised!"

He leant over to see what his father was cooking. The saucepan was full of spitting, sizzling and otherwise scrumptious looking sausages.

"I thought I'd make sausage sandwiches. I've buttered most of the bread, but do you think you could finish off the last few pieces? They're on the table." He gestured over to it and turned back to the pan, rolling the sausages over with his spatula. Charlie went over to the table, set his crutches against it and sat down. He picked up the blunt bread knife and pulled out more pieces of bread from the bag.

"How many more pieces do we need?" he asked.

"Let's see… I've done eleven already… there's Dad, me, Charlie...and… hm… we need three more."

"Okie dokie," Charlie said, pulling out three slices of bread onto the plate.

"Oh, the tomato sauce!" exclaimed Mr Bucket, moving away from the pan to grab a bottle of Heinz from the cupboard.

Mrs Bucket woke to the sound of sizzling and humming. She was awake instantly. "Oh no!" she cried, sitting straight up in bed. 'I've left the frying pan on all night!' she thought, horrified.

She looked over to where her husband was standing holding a frying pan full of sausages, and her son sitting at the table buttering bread. Both looked rather surprised. The grandparents were stirring from the shout and looking around blearily. Mrs Bucket's cheeks turned pink.

"Oh dear," she said, "I've gotten this a bit wrong, haven't I?"

"We're making breakfast for you Mum," said Charlie, smiling cheerfully. She noticed that he looked a bit tired though; Mums tended to notice these things.

"Goodness. Ah- well... thank you boys." She blinked a couple of times, still feeling a bit stunned from her sudden waking.

"Is that sausages I smell?" came an old curious yet cheeky voice from the big bed; it was Grandpa Joe.

"Sure is, Dad," said Mr Bucket. "We're having sausage sandwiches."

Ten minutes later and the food was dished up, the younger Buckets plus Grandpa Joe eating at the table, the other three still in bed.

"Are you ever all going to get up on your own and eat with us one day, or is this just a hopeless dream?" said Mr Bucket.

"Yes it is," snapped Grandpa George.

Charlie was pouring tomato sauce all over his sausages, drenching them so much that there was more sauce than sausage and bread combined. He loved tomato sauce, though pehaps even he would admit that it might have been just a tad too much. He wasn't paying attention while doing it, once again caught in serious thoughts despite the jovial mood. Mrs Bucket noticed and raised an eyebrow, wondering what her son was worrying about now.

Mr Bucket finished his food and grabbed his coat, heading out to work at the Toothpaste Factory. Charlie would have to go to school soon, but he wanted to ask his mother something first. He'd had some sort of brainwave in the last few minutes; he'd ask advice on how to tell Wonka his feelings, though, of course, he wouldn't put it quite like that.

"Mum," he said, aware that all his grandparents were listening, and aware that he'd have to phrase this very carefully. "I need to tell someone at school… something important, and it's something they might not like- I don't know yet. They, uh, might go really fruitloopy about it. Which do you think is the best way to tell them?"

'There,' he thought, 'that wasn't too bad.'

Mrs Bucket mouth quirked up ever so slightly; she could read her son like a book. She knew something was troubling him- again.

"You just need to be honest," she said, "if you try to hide anything it'll more than likely come out later and this 'someone at school' will get even more mad."

Charlie resisted the temptation to sigh. This was typical grown-up advice. It wasn't any good at all.

"I don't suppose you could tell us who this 'someone' is, could you?" Mrs Bucket probed.

Charlie shook his head.

"I didn't think so," she said.

He gathered up his books for the day and stuffed them into his backpack, quickly slinging on his school uniform and brushing his teeth.

"How's your ankle today?" asked Mrs Bucket. "Do you want to ask Willy to give you a lift in the Elevator? Actually… do you know where he is today? I'd completely forgotten till now."

"He's probably still sleeping; I won't bother him. My ankle's feeling much better now anyway, I probably won't need my crutches soon."

"That's wonderful!" she said, passing his bag to him.

"See you later Mum," he said, accepting it.

He walked slowly and haltingly out of the factory, down the gentle slope opposite the parkland, through he small winding roads he knew by heart. Before long he was sitting in his form room whispering to his friends as their teacher took the morning register.

Rowan was still looking very miserable, which was to be expected. His dark hair looked lank and had plastered itself to his scalp. He didn't even try to brush it out of his eyes. Sam was however more cheerful, and when he caught that Charlie was going to be quiet that day as well, he blew out a bit of air from between his lips.

"Not you too Charlie," he said. "Can't you lighten up a bit? It's bad enough hanging around with one zombie, let alone two."

"Ah, sorry Sam," said Charlie quietly as his teacher read the notices for the day. ("Ballet lessons after school today, and Mr Turkentine wants to see you at break about homework Mira.") He lifted his sinking head up, trying to look brighter. "It's just… I'm having some trouble with my Dad. I need to tell him something, and I'm not sure he'll like it."

"I know what you mean, it's horrible isn't it? Makes me think of when I told my Dad I'd broken the window with my football. He went _nuts_. What is it you've done anyway?"

"I… can't really tell you."

"What? It's that bad?"

"It's not necessarily bad… it's just I'm not sure he'll like it. It's a bit like, say, I've gotten into origami, but Dad might hate me doing it."

"What's so bad about origami?" asked Sam, both puzzled and amused.

"Nothing's wrong with it. It's a… what's the word? A hyper- no- hypothetical idea."

Sam put an ostentatious finger on his chin and pulled on a thoughtful face, pretending to stroke an imaginary beard. "Well," he said, "when you tell someone something they won't like, it's best to get them in a good mood."

"Get them in a good mood…" Charlie said thoughtfully.

"Yeah. Hey! You could tell them a funny joke, so that they're laughing so much that they'll hardly notice what you say next, and they won't mind one bit. You can use one of mine if you like."

Charlie pulled a face. "Your jokes are awful."

"No they're not! Anyway, just cuz it's you, I'll let you use my best one."

"Which one's that?"

"The cannibal one."

"Um… how does that one go again?"

Sam sighed loudly, like a kindly teacher at a student who hasn't done his homework. "What did the cannibal get when he was late to dinner?"

"I don't know," said Charlie, "what did the cannibal get when he was late to dinner?"

"The cold shoulder!" Sam chuckled at his own joke, and Charlie joined in.

"That's actually not too bad, coming from you," he said playfully.

"You ought to try it, it might actually work," said Sam.

Charlie "Hmm"'d, but decided it was better than nothing. At any rate, it was a lot better than his mother's advice. If he told Wonka as straight forwardly as she suggested he might chuck him off the roof! Charlie wondered what Mrs Bucket might have said if he told her the _whole_ dilemma. He presumed that it might have something to do with going into counselling for a long, long time.

As he went down the corridor to his English lesson he thought what he'd do if Wonka felt the same way he did. There was a small chance he would, Charlie thought, though it wasn't a very big one. He'd just have to hope, he decided. It'd be hope based on lunacy, but hope none the less.

He spotted Martin's old friends standing by the stairs, looking lost. They didn't quite seem to know what to do with themselves. Charlie looked directly at them as he walked past; they didn't even try to say anything to him. He realised he probably wouldn't have any problems with bullying now. Though he didn't know it, Wonka had achieved what he had originally set out for. He'd never be bothered by Martin or his friends again.

The school day passed fairly quickly, with the only highlights being Mr Turkentine's ever-amusing antics in Science, and a boy who had his eyebrows sizzled off by one of the teacher's exploding concoctions. The boy was fine apart from that though, if a little dazed.

Soon enough, Charlie was going back up the hill to the Factory, feeling as though he'd left only a few minutes ago. He speculated how amazingly fast time goes when you're worried about something, and how it seems to speed up towards it just to spite you. Charlie kept trying to put the coming night out of mind, but it kept bouncing back. 'At least I'll be prepared' he thought with exasperation. 'I'd hate to see what'd happen if I left it all to instinct.'

Despite this, Charlie thought he could never be prepared for such a momentous task.

A surprise was set in store for him when he opened the door to his house, devised by his quiet, kind but knowing mother. She'd perceived his mood and had tried to perk him up- by bringing out the boxes of Christmas decorations ready to put up. (They say a woman's intuition is amazing, and Mrs Bucket is a classic example of this.)

"Christmas decorations?" he asked, his deep-in-thought face changing to one of surprise.

"Yes, I thought we ought to put them up soon. It won't be long till Christmas now. These are the ones Willy gave us last year, do you want to help with them?" She was standing on a chair, putting up a chain of twinkling lights.

Charlie hovered, he didn't feel much in the mood, but, these were _Christmas decorations_… it was a hard choice.

"Sure!" he said at last.

"Okay," she said, beaming, "you take that box over there; I'll finish up with this one. Let me know if you want me to put up the higher ones. Don't hurt that ankle of yours now it's finally getting better."

He took off his crutches and hopped on one foot over to the box and opened it up, peeling off the sellotape and sticking it to the underside of the table. "Oh, I remember these," he said brightly, pulling out a dangling decoration that changed colours in the light. Even as he held it the colours went blue-orange-pink, all shining with that metallic shimmer that comes from foil.

Carefully clambering onto another chair to hang it up, Mrs Bucket watched Charlie anxiously. The wheel of sellotape in his mouth, he cut off a piece with a pair of scissors, and stuck the decoration onto the wooden roof. He got down just as carefully, watching it turn this way and that, colours all merging into one another.

Sometime while they were putting them up, Grandpa Joe got out of bed to help them. He and Charlie took an end each of an enormous set of paper chains and together managed to hang them up. With the three of them working, all the decorations were done in a flash, and they all sat down to have something to drink, having to duck under some of the larger dangling ones to get to the table.

As Charlie sipped his tea, Grandpa Joe leant closer over to him. "Did you manage to tell that person the thing you were talking about earlier?" he said, his voice in a low whisper so Mrs Bucket wouldn't hear.

"No… not yet," Charlie whispered back.

"I was thinking about it while you were gone, and I have some advice for you. Have you ever heard of something called reverse psychology?"

Charlie looked at him blankly. "Uhh… well, I think I might have heard the name somewhere, but I dunno what it means."

"Reverse psychology is when you get someone to do what you want by pretending you want the opposite. I saw it in a movie once- the man being held at gunpoint by a crime boss who was planning to kill him told the pin king he hated life so much that he wanted to die."

"How would that help anything?"

"Because the boss wanted him to suffer, so he let him go, since he said he hated life so much. Of course, the man didn't want to die really, he was just being clever."

"Oh… right." That was all very interesting, but Charlie wasn't sure how that would help him. He wasn't under threat of being killed, and Willy Wonka was most definitely not an Italian gangster. He had images in his head of himself puffing out his lips towards a reluctant Wonka, who was dressed in a black suit with a cigar in his mouth and had a dodgy Italian accent, then pulling back just before he kissed him and saying "Nope, I don't want to kiss you really!" and the gangster Wonka pouting comically, exclaiming "Ple-ease Charlie!" It was fairly amusing, but not particularly helpful.

"Thanks Grandpa," he said, trying to look thankful.

"No problem. You always know where to come for advice, eh? You ought to hear my advice on love, it's even better! You just wait to you get a little older, I've got goldmines in my pockets for you!"

"Oh, okay," said Charlie, thinking that even though it might be more appropriate for the situation, he wasn't sure he wanted to hear it anyway.

They had jacket potatoes for dinner, and Charlie sat eating his, mulling over all the advice he'd been given that day. Reverse psychology, telling a funny joke, or being honest. What would be the better one to use? If it was anybody else he'd be able to pick one easily. But this was Wonka. The very idea of telling such a man you had feelings for him was preposterous in any shape or form! But there was no way around it, and there was no use denying he had feelings for him. Every time he heard his name his heart beat faster, and whenever he talked to him his tongue became tied and all he could do was stutter. No, he had feelings for him alright. If he knew the word 'infatuation' he might apply it to himself. There was no use arguing about it.

He finished off his potato and climbed up to his room, being careful not to tread too roughly with his right foot. He hadn't been up there for a few days now, and it felt almost a little strange.

Glancing at his clock that sat by his bedside he was given a nasty jolt- it was six sixteen. There was less than three hours to go; he felt faint at the thought. He twiddled with his fingers, fumbled with his thumbs, glancing at the clock every few seconds. The time seemed to fall away like sand. He got out his homework to do since sitting there thinking was proving to be unbearable. But he couldn't concentrate on it. The letters and numbers on his sheet of mathematic equations escaped his mind like water through fingers. He read the instructions on the top of the page five times without really taking any of it in. His eyes darted unwillingly to the clock again. Five to eight. He was almost trembling. Looking desperately around the room for something to distract him he pulled a pad of paper towards him. Barely conscious of what he was doing, he began to write.

_To anyone who's listening, _

_I think I'm about to make the biggest mistake in my life, but it's a mistake I have to make. I'll die otherwise. Please help me tell him how I feel, and please, please don't let him hate me too much. _

_Charlie_

He looked down at what he'd written, frowned, and wondered what the hell he was doing. He screwed up the paper and threw it into the bin. Then he waited. This had to be the most uncomfortable part of his young life; he couldn't even ever remember feeling so jumpy and nervous. He was sure that if someone tapped him on the shoulder at this point he would have leapt out of his skin.

Suddenly, abruptly, absolutely; the merciless hands reached quarter to nine. He couldn't sit around any longer- it was time to go and meet his maker.

Shaking, he climbed down the ladder to the main part of the house. He decided he'd leave his crutches behind, no matter how much it pained him. Crutches weren't in any way romantic. He'd just have to do without them.

"Mum, Dad, I'm going out to see Mr Wonka for a little while," he said, amazing himself by keeping his voice so steady.

His parents looked up from where they were watching television with the grandparents. "Surely not now darling?" said Mrs Bucket. "It's almost nine, you ought to go to bed soon."

Charlie shook his head, a determined yet pale look etched on every pore of his face. "I won't be long," he said. He doubted he would be anything of the sort, but he couldn't allow his parents to make him stay here. This was much, much too important. There was part of him that wanted his parents to force him to stay, to tuck him into bed with a kiss. But things were different now; he was getting older. He had to make his own decisions or nothing would ever change. He'd stay little Charlie forever.

Mr Bucket frowned at his son. "Why do you want to see Willy now?" he asked. "You've had hours when you could have gone and visited him."

Charlie pulled on his coat, a light blue long one with toggle buttons, remembering that it would be cold outside.

"He asked me yesterday if I could meet him now. He'll be waiting for me."

"Oh… well… alright then," said Mr Bucket. "Just... don't be too long."

"I won't," said Charlie, and he walked out the door and shut it behind him.

"Why do you think Willy wants to see our Charlie at this time of day?" said Mrs Bucket when he was gone, her brow creased.

Mr Bucket shrugged, looking equally off-put. "Who knows, they probably have to stew eels out in the full moon to make their next new candy…or something like that," he said, but he couldn't help but feel that there seemed something a bit more queer about this. He shook himself of the feeling, deciding it was nothing, and put an arm round his wife's shoulders.

For Charlie, the shut door between him and his parents felt much more heavier on his heart than a piece of old wood should. It was as though a metal guillotine had come down and sliced them apart. He was completely alone now. There was no one to run to, and he knew he wouldn't be able to open that door again until he told Wonka exactly how he felt.

He pressed his quivering fingers together and set off forward.

There were still some minutes so he'd take the scenic route to the roof, rather than using the Elevator. (There was also the idea that he was stalling for time, but he would never admit to that.) He went through the chameleon door in the side of the Chocolate Room and came out onto the winding stairs that spiralled endlessly upwards. As he did, he pressed down too hard on his foot and winced. More slowly, he made his way upwards.

He went around and around, his footfalls echoing all the way down the stairwell. It was amazing how far up this went; it seemed to almost stretch into the sky. He must almost be all the way there now, surely, but there were just more steps, seemingly leading on forever. But now he thought he could see something- yes, there was the door. He could see it just a little higher up. He was almost there.

Without warning, he stopped. Shivers overtook him, and he stood, frozen, trembling on the spot. There was still time. He could go back. There was nothing stopping him. He could just forget this and make up an excuse to why he didn't come to meet Wonka. He'd never need to bother him with his foolish feelings.

Except, he was sick of excuses, and he was sick of lying to himself. He could do this, he wasn't a coward. He was going to do what he should have done weeks ago- and he was going to be honest.

Trembling, sweating, terrified, but determined, Charlie Bucket made his way up the winding stairs to whatever fate awaited him.


	16. Chapter 16

_Chapter XVI- Sweet Surrender_

Charlie kept looking straight forward as he walked up the last few stairs, only allowing his mind to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. He was still powerfully nervous, but he wouldn't allow himself to go back. There was a painful cramping in his chest that came from it being scrunched up in worry, but he told himself he'd just have to put up with that.

'It'll all be over soon,' he thought to himself, 'then I can stop worrying…'

He made his way up the stone steps, using a hand on the curving wall to steady him. After what seemed like an eternity, he reached the top. Pulling the door open he came out into the corridor, his eyes set on the threshold that would lead him to the office. As it had been on the stairwell, it was deathly silent; the slightest piece of noise reverberated all over and bounced off the walls. It was so quiet it was oppressive, and made Charlie's stomach constrict achingly. Then the next door handle was in his hand- and he was through.

Wonka's cuckoo clock ticked loudly in the office and made him jump high into the air as it chimed loudly, a little brown bird with a top hat and fluttering wings leaping out several times chirping "Cuckoo! Cuckoo!"

Charlie put a hand to his heart, feeling it beating as fast as the little bird's wings. That was one way to tell him it nine o'clock, he thought. In the highly strung mood he was in, he'd become as jittery as the cuckoo himself.

He looked around; the room was empty, so presumably Wonka must be out on the roof already. Feeling faint, he climbed the short flight of steps up to it, his shaking hands reaching up to open the trapdoor. Quickly he looked down at himself, tugging at his blue coat self-consciously. Did he look alright like this? There wasn't any mirror here, so he couldn't check. He'd never worried about anything like this before! He thought he'd come prepared but it seemed like he wasn't prepared at all. He shook his head, wondering why he was worrying over such silly things.

He took a deep breath and counted to three. Then he opened the trapdoor.

The cold wind hit him suddenly, like a blow to the chest, and he shivered, clambering out onto the roof. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and turning his head (heart pumping, butterflies flying up) he saw Wonka. He was sitting on the edge, legs crossed and dangling over the side, his face set in handsome profile. He looked as though he was seeing something very far away, and his eyes had adopted a bright quality. He was wearing a thick purple coat over the top of his other garments, with a top hat that had a matching ribbon. Every once in a while a gust of wind would blow over him and ruffle his hair and he would lift a hand and place it on his head to stop it blowing off.

His hands together, fingers threaded, Charlie crossed the factory roof and sat down silently next to him. Wonka turned and smiled, pretending he'd only just noticed the boy. He uncrossed his legs. "Hey," he said, music in his voice.

"Hi," squeaked Charlie. He noticed how close together they were sat; if Charlie moved his leg just an inch more they'd be touching. Feeling daring, he shifted, as though he was just getting comfortable. He could now feel Wonka's more muscular leg pressing against his own smaller and softer one. It was an intoxicating feeling and made something in his chest flutter pleasurably.

"Lovely night isn't it?" commented Wonka, who couldn't help but notice Charlie's little shuffle. "Shame it's a bit cold. I'd hoped it mighta' been a bit warmer than this. Yer not getting too cold out here are ya?"

Charlie shook his head quickly. "No sir, I'm fine."

"Goody good. Just lemme' know if you get too cold, alright?"

"I will," said Charlie, his eyes darting up to meet Wonka's. He grinned quickly and cast them back down, wondering what he should do next. Should he wait for a good opening, or just blurt it out? He thought of Sam's advice to tell Wonka a joke, but he saw that the idea was completely and utterly ridiculous now. He knew he ought to do what his mother said and be honest, but how should he do that? He bit his lip and folded his arms to keep them warm; almost glad for the cold since it gave another reason for why his hands were shaking.

He stared up into the sky to think of something he could say, before the silence became awkward. The stars seemed awfully bright that night, more so though than usual. The moon was waning now, it hung crescent sized in the sky pinned up by two neighbouring stars. "Hey, I think I can see a constellation!" he said.

"Which one?" asked Wonka, dipping his head down next to Charlie's so that he could be eye-level with him. As he did so he let his hand slide along Charlie's shoulders and the boy felt a large tremor run through him.

"Th- the big dipper- I think," he said, pointing a trembling finger to a patch of sky above them. "It's there."

"Yeah, that's it," Wonka rested his head against Charlie's. "You can see Orion's belt as well, just there. It's the straight line of three stars. And there's Aquarius, the really faint one- jus' there. That's your star sign, isn't it?" He tapped his fingers a few times where his hand still lay on Charlie's shoulder, then changed the motion so that he was drawing lazy circles on the boy's arm, using his index finger and making them smaller and wider, so to give the impression that he was doing it subconsciously.

"Uhm, I think so," said Charlie, trying desperately to keep calm.

"Your birthday's at the end of January, so yes, it would be. Ya know, Aquarius' are supposed to be friendly and honest- they got you down to a tee, eh? They're also very inventive, very free-spirited and unconventional, don't always think the same way others do, don't always act how others would expect." He said all this in a low voice, since his head was so close to Charlie's that their hair was touching.

"Is that a bad thing?" he asked, using the same whisper.

"Oh, no- of course not. People are boring when they all think the same way. I'd be quite disappointed if you did actually." He pulled his head back, brushing his windswept hair from his eyes. He looked at Charlie closely, expectantly. Charlie knew this was the best time to tell him, but it didn't feel right. There was nothing of the feeling he'd experienced in the Upside Down Room, not even a snatch of it. He'd felt content then, at peace. He hadn't felt nervous at all, until it went away and he was left stranded, of course.

But he had to try.

Charlie forced his hands away from each other, telling himself that he mustn't fidget. He laid them down flat on his lap so that Wonka wouldn't see how they shook uncontrollably. In his head a voice kept saying 'Go on! Now! On the count of three!' to try and motivate him enough to begin. Wonka watched this little internal battle curiously, his eyes bright with anticipation. He was almost completely sure now, but he must let Charlie tell him first. He waited patiently as the boy wrestled with himself silently. If Charlie had looked up and seen his face then he would have realised that he didn't even need to tell him, for his feelings were etched on every pore of his skin. But the child's eyes were gazing distractedly at him somewhere in the vicinity of his shoulders, the child himself wondering what words he should use.

'I love you? I like you?' Neither were the right ones to say here and he knew it. But at the same time, one word is better than none, and he couldn't just carry on sitting like a twitchy bird, trying to make up excuses. He counted to five in his head, the numbers echoing about his skull like bells in an empty silence, and he opened his mouth to speak. As in the saying- it was now or never.

"Mr Wonka, I… I have something to tell you." He pressed his palms down further into his lap, though he was sure that even that wouldn't disguise the trembling. "It's- it's the thing I was trying to, to tell you a few days ago. I don't know… if, if you remember, or, or not…" he waffled, trying to draw out a few more precious seconds before he had to speak his awful secret.

"I remember," said Wonka, shifting slightly so he was facing the boy at an angle and could look at him directly. "Go on."

"Well… its something very important, and I've wanted to say it for, for quite a long time. But I'm not sure… if, you know, you'll like it or not…"

"If its this important to you I promise I won't get mad. Just tell me," he urged him on. Every particle in his body was concentrating on Charlie's words. He was a musician in a famous orchestra waiting for his cue. All he needed was those certain words; even one would do, so long as Charlie, the conductor, was the one to speak them.

"It's that…"

Fingers brushing a string, bells chiming out into the night sky, Charlie realised where he was going wrong. All at once the feeling from the Upside Down Room returned to him, and his fingers felt out the edges of the rope. They clasped onto it, held it tightly, pulled- and he knew exactly what to do, what to say.

Which is- nothing.

His hands still now, he reached up and touched Wonka on the shoulder tenderly, his face blazing with determination and something else. Then, without a single word, he leant up and kissed him. Their lips touched very softly, like air meeting air. Hearing no exclaims of disgust, seeing no horrified faces, Charlie leant further forward, using his other hand flat on the ground to push him up. Wonka's lips were soft and smooth, nothing like the plastic he sometimes compared them to when he pulled on one of those fake looks of his. Charlie started to feel anxious when there was no response from Wonka, and a jab of nervousness hit him in the chest.

But a hand was on his cheek, sliding back through his hair, and the feeling disappeared without a trace. Alone together on the rooftops, Willy Wonka kissed Charlie Bucket back.

While it was hardly the perfect kiss, for this was Charlie's first time, and Wonka himself had been out of practise for long, they could have asked for no better. The mere touch of their lips send fireworks shooting through Charlie's body, exploding brightly in his chest. Catherine wheels span round and around, sparks shooting off in all directions. The fireworks shot up high into the sky- as did his heart.

When Charlie reluctantly broke away for air, feeling as though he wanted to go on like that forever, he looked nervously at the expression on Wonka's face. It was a face he'd never seen on him before, nor one he would have ever expected to see. It was completely and utterly human. Behind that plastic mask, behind the blanks looks of obscure meanings, the dark veil of hidden feelings, was a man who was absolutely one-hundred percent real and alive. His smile was vivid and unrestrained, his immaculate hair tousled, his deathly pale skin tinged with the first hint of colour. His eyes were a different matter altogether. In them swam so many emotions, unguarded, that they seemed to shimmer with humanness.

Charlie saw this all and was enraptured, knowing from one single glance that his return of the kiss wasn't a mistake. He saw (his heart beating, dancing, leaping) that Wonka felt exactly the same way about him.

Tears started in his eyes, born from joy and happiness, and he grabbed onto Wonka, hugging him tight. He sobbed into his chest; his head nestled in Wonka's fur coat. After a minute Wonka carefully peeled him away and Charlie looked up curiously, his eyelashes wet and matted together from his tears. Wonka dipped his head down and kissed them softly away, making Charlie's chest flutter. He followed a lone tear, snaking its way down Charlie's cheek, capturing it just as it dived into the corner of the boy's wet lips. He kissed him again, this time more lovingly than before. Charlie felt as though he'd been transported to some exotic precipice of Heaven, to a place of dreams fulfilled and days spent in eternal moonlight.

They kissed again and again, drinking in more of each other, quenching the insatiable thirst they'd suffered since the day they'd met. Charlie did something he'd only dreamed of, and ran his fingers through the man's chocolate locks, all the way down to the nape of his neck.

Wonka felt the boy's small hands caressing him, not even caring when his hat fell onto the roof, and he thought he must be the luckiest man in the world. To have such feelings for a child- and then to find- to find that he felt the same way… it was just- unbelievable!

Eventually they began to slow and tire; after such a bout of passion both were spent, their cheeks flushed and their breathing heavy. Wonka lazily gathered Charlie up into his lap and they sat watching the stars, his hand draped protectively over Charlie's back. It was a while till they spoke.

The stars crossed over the sky, constellations shifting, carrying on in their never-ending dance through empty space. "I didn't expect you to feel the same way about me," said Charlie finally, in a whisper.

"There ya are then, surprises all round." Wonka's voice was just as quiet, his voice slow and contented.

"Why couldn't you have told me, if you felt the same way? Do you know how hard it was for me to do this?" His words were spoken without annoyance or irritation, just quiescent curiosity.

"Why d'ya think?" he asked, a little ruefully, scratching the hollow line in back of Charlie's neck.

Charlie gave a quick short laugh. "That makes sense. I spent all today worrying, you know? Worrying over nothing. I feel as though… as though someone's lifted a weight from my shoulders. It feels wonderful."

"Feels wonderful to me as well," Wonka murmured absently.

A silence crept on them, and they watched as a cloud passed slowly across the moon, drifting along on the night's sleepy air currents. Charlie blew out a puff of air from his cheeks.

"My parents can't find out about this," he said, "they'd go mad. They wouldn't ever understand."

"That's a smart idea," said Wonka.

"You…just to check, I mean… this isn't just a one-off thing, is it? You're not going to act like nothing happened when its tomorrow… are you?"

The boy looked quite anxious, and Wonka wondered how he could even ask such a thing. "That's crazy talk," he said playfully, tilting Charlie's head up with a finger on his chin. "Of course I won't, I wouldn't dream of it." Their lips touched again.

The boy laid his head against Wonka's chest. He could hear his slow heartbeat in his ear. A feeling of great contentment swelled and broke over him.

"I feel so peaceful…" he whispered. After some time he began to shiver. "Could we go inside?" he asked, "It's getting sort of cold out here now."

He reluctantly pulled himself out of Wonka's arms and stood up, feeling stiff and a little icey. Wonka joined him at his side and took hold of Charlie's hand. "C'mon then," he said, and they made their way back down off the roof where they'd been reborn, out from the ashes and down the trapdoor, back into the factory.

Warmth broke over them and Charlie let out a small "Aaa" rubbing his hands together to grind in the heat. "I didn't realise how cold it was out there," he said, not particularly to Wonka, who was tilting a picture hanging on the wall so that it hung wonky instead of straight. When he was finished he turned round and smiled at Charlie. His eyes darted away shyly in an automatic reaction, but he remembered that he didn't have to do that anymore and looked back, giving a hesitant laugh. It felt a peculiar to do so, but it also felt marvellous.

Wonka adjusted a few more pictures and looked quizzically at the cuckoo clock, which seemed to have stopped. He stood for a moment, and sat down on the armchair, leaning his elbow on the armrest.

Charlie looked down at his shoelaces and pretended to inspect them, feeling hesitant now he was down off the roof. Mustering up his courage, he walked over to Wonka and slipped back into his arms. Wonka enfolded them around him, lacing his fingers together over Charlie's stomach.

"This is completely mad, you know?" said Charlie, putting his own hands over Wonka's. His voice sounded a little sleepy.

"Just an ordinary day in the factory then eh?" replied Wonka with a grin. Charlie gave a small tired "Ha!"

"You know what I mean though," he said. He followed this with an almighty yawn, rolling his head back onto Wonka's chest, eyelashes fluttering. When Wonka looked down next, he was fast asleep.

"All tired out, huh?" Wonka said to the sleeping boy. Charlie responded by nuzzling closer to him in that adorably cute way that only sleeping children possess. "Yer've made me very happy today Charlie, and I promise you won't regret this. I sure didn't expect it, but I won't count my blessings; and I tell ya, this is one big blessing. I know yer might be nervous about all this, but don't worry, cuz I won't ever hurt you. We just have to take this very slowly." He unlaced his fingers and raised one hand to caress Charlie's cheek. The boy stirred a little, shifting his head around.

"Mr Wonka…" he murmured, "Mr Wonka…"

Gently, so he wouldn't wake him, Wonka pulled Charlie into an embrace. "Yes, I'm here," he whispered. "I'm here, and I'm never letting you go. I'm here, I'm here."

Then slowly, in the quietness of the office, even the ticking of the clock extinguished, he drifted to sleep with Charlie draped lovingly in his arms.

x

In the Bucket household, the Buckets themselves were getting restless. It was late now, and Charlie still hadn't returned. The film they were watching on channel five had finished long before, and the only ones left awake were Mr Bucket, Mrs Bucket and Grandpa George.

"Only gone for a little while, my ass," he complained. "Even Charlie knows better than this- when he comes back just leave him to me. I'll give him a good talking to."

"He's not usually like this, perhaps he's just lost track of the time," said Mrs Bucket, languishing tiredly on an old stool.

"It could be Willy again; you know what he's like when he gets a good idea- he ends up working all night. It's irresponsible of him to rope Charlie in though. I shall-" Mr Bucket yawned, "have to have a word with him."

"I'll stay up and wait for Charlie to come back. I won't be able to sleep well not knowing where he is," said Mrs Bucket.

"Oh, he'll be fine," Grandpa George waved his hand dismissively. "No point loosing sleep over it."

Mrs Bucket shook her head, trying to look more awake. "Even if I go to bed now I won't get any sleep, so I might as well wait up."

"You worry too much, I don't know who you get it from." He looked over to where Grandma Georgina was snoring. Mrs Bucket smiled weakly.

"Do you want me to stay up with you?" asked Mr Bucket, laying a hand on her shoulders. "I can always use the time to start on those new books from the library."

"More of them?" Grandpa George said in a cynical voice. "What's the point in taking a mechanics course if you're going to know everything on it before you begin?"

"It doesn't start till January," Mr Bucket's voice was laced with exasperation for his father-in-law. "I'm only learning the basics at any rate, that way I'll have a foothold when we start."

"Sounds like a waste of time to me," muttered Grandpa George. Mrs Bucket rolled her eyes at the pair.

"You go to bed dear," she said. "There's no point in us both losing sleep. I expect he'll be back in a few minutes anyway."

"If you're sure then." He got up and gave her a peck on the cheek, walking into the bathroom to brush his teeth. She herself pulled down a battered copy of Oliver Twist and sat up at the dining table to read. She thought the straight-backed chair might help keep her awake, since the armchair by the lamp- one of the few presents the Buckets accepted from Willy, too modest for much more- was so comfortable it would surely send her to sleep in an instant. She said goodnight to her husband and father and set to reading the adventures of Oliver.

But despite all this, she found herself sinking lower and lower into the table, and before long, she fell into a worrisome sleep, her head resting against the wood, arms thrust out in front of her. Her only consolation was that her son was with Willy, and surely that meant he was safe.


	17. Chapter 17

_Chapter XVII- Truth and Dare_

'_Let's tear apart the fence around us, and go as far as we can together, to some god-forsaken place. The farthest place from Heaven… a kingdom built just for the two of us.'_

Light filtered into the office through the window, casting shafts of luminescence that fell upon the two sleeping soundly in the armchair, illuminating patches of brightness on their faces. It was morning, and neither Charlie nor Wonka had even begun to stir. They'd shifted some in the night, so that one of Charlie's arms was slung over Wonka's shoulder, the other dangling limply by his side. His face was still pressed into Wonka's chest, like a wolf cub nuzzling up to its' mother. The wolf himself had moved so that his head rested against the boy's, his arms embracing him even in sleep.

The sound of chirping birds began outside the window as they opened their beaks to sing the dawn chorus, the light shining brighter. An overhead plane grumbled and spluttered as it crossed the sky. Still they slept on, Charlie bringing up an unconscious hand to rub his eyes, mumbling nonsense words.

A crack of light fell upon the floor, this time not from the window. The line of radiance lengthened, falling now on Charlie and Wonka's legs. The office door let out its' usual creek, a tiny handle on the bottom of the door turning, and two Oompa-Loompas armed with long feather duster and ladder walked in. They gaped up at their employer, whispered quietly to each other, then disappeared back out into the corridor. The birds twittered on.

The door snaked open again, just an inch, and Doris side-stepped in, pressing it shut behind her. She put her hands on her hips, a knowing smirk playing on her face. She strolled over to the arm chair, pulled out a pencil from behind her ear and poked Wonka sharply in the ankle with it.

"Ya-_oowww!_"he exclaimed, waking with a start. He looked about him, his face adopting an almost surprised expression when he noticed Charlie, before it melted back into contentment.

Doris frowned and poked him again with the pointed lead, Wonka mouthing a silent "Ouch!" in reply. Puzzled, he tried to lean forward to see what was attacking his ankle, but couldn't with Charlie still perched on him.

"What is that down there?" he said in a hushed, irritated voice, not expecting a reply. He craned his neck further.

"A vermicious knid," came the reply, and Doris walked round to the side of the chair where he could see her. Wonka's face wilted. It was very likely at this point that he would have preferred a real vermicious knid to the little woman who stood in front of him.

"Uhh, hiya Doris," he said, very much aware he was trapped underneath Charlie, who was still snoozing peacefully despite this commotion. "What's… up?"

Doris folded her arms and shot him a 'what do you think' look. Wonka glanced away sheepishly. "Aren't you going to say 'it's not what it looks like'?" she asked.

All manner of expressions flittered over Wonka's face as he questioned how he'd get out of this latest mess. It wasn't looking good for him- his position was hardly compromising. He couldn't even run without waking Charlie up. He saw that the devious secretary had trapped him so that there were no gaps he could escape out of, and -judging from her face- she knew it.

Wonka groaned, hanging his head in defeat. "You win," he said weakly. "Truce?" he offered, looking downcast.

"Truce." She shook his outstretched index finger with a smile. "Now, tell me how this happened, and don't try and lie. We all know you're an awful liar, and you can't slither out this time, you slitherer-outerer. It's time to put an end to this foolish game of hide and seek."

He thought about this, and saw that she was right. "Fine," he said, "but ya can't tell the others, alright?"

Doris snorted, "It's too late for that."

Wonka sat up a little bit. "You mean…?"

"The two that came in here to clean are now sitting with half the tribe around them- all of them offering drinks- talking about what they saw and having the time of their lives. By noon everyone will know."

"Brilliant," said Wonka, grimacing.

"You really didn't expect them not to find out about this?"

"Not so quickly, at least," he paused. "How are they reacting?"

"Some… not too bad. Others… you'd probably rather not know."

"Ah, well. I expected that. But… they'll just have to get over it. This is my factory and I'll darn do whatever the fudge I want in it." The familiar fire had returned to his eyes, and Doris crinkled her brow at this sudden shift in mood.

"Well, you're certainly getting yourself into some deep, _deep_ fudge with this. Are you _quite_ sure you know what you're doing?"

Wonka rolled his eyes. "No Doris, this is the sorta' thing I do every Tuesday," he said sarcastically.

"Fine, but just make sure his-" she gestured to Charlie, "parents don't find out. I'm not cleaning up when they've hacked you into pieces and strewn your body parts all over the factory."

"They won't find out," he said, subconsciously clutching onto Charlie tighter.

"Good. But tell me, how _did _this happen? I knew you were a conniving old devil, but I never knew you were this good."

"Pff. You've got me all wrong Doris. I thought you Oompa-Loompas were supposta' be perceptive? Charlie feels exactly the same way about me."

It was Doris's turn to be surprised now. 'The boy must be star struck,' she thought, 'infatuated. There's no other way to explain it.'

Wonka watched the expressions on her face change, a little flutter of anxiety passing over his chest. "Don'cha believe me or something?" he asked.

"No, I think you're probably telling the truth. But Charlie is only-"

Perhaps because he'd heard his name spoken, because of coincidence, or simply because he'd slept enough, Charlie now began to stir. Doris quickly silenced herself as she noticed his fluttering eyelashes, staying put on her spot. Charlie looked blearily around, not taking in anything. He felt up the side of Wonka's arm with his hand, his brow furrowing. He seemed to be trying to figure out what he was touching, wondering where the wall next to his bed had gone.

He managed to open his eyes properly and look up at Wonka, seeming puzzled for a moment, as Wonka had done, before it fell away, and he offered him a shining smile.

"Did I… fall asleep?" he asked, rubbing his eyes.

"Yeah, ya did," said Wonka, thinking when the boy would notice Doris standing hawk-eyed next to them.

"You could have woke me, I wouldn't have minded. It can't have been very comfortable like that all night, I'm sorry." He threw his arms around Wonka's neck and laid his head contentedly against his collarbone. "I dreamt we flew away on a magic carpet, all over London, and everyone looked up and waved at us, and Rowan was smiling again… I'm sort of glad I fell asleep here actually. If I woke up back at my house I might have thought that last night was a dream. But it wasn't, was it?"

"No." Oh, the look on Doris's face right now, Wonka could just imagine it.

"Is…is everything alright Mr Wonka? You don't look very well," Charlie's smile tugged down somewhat.

Wonka tried not to do it, he really did. But unbidden by him, his eyes made an unconscious flick down to where Doris was standing, and Charlie followed them all the way down.

He went rigid in his arms. He made a wordless gasp, grabbing hold of Wonka's coat in his hands, all colour in his cheeks draining away to his feet. "Miss- miss D-Doris!" he spluttered out, "it's not what- I mean, that's- I-I- I'm not, _we're_ not- _Mr Wonka_!" It was a desperate plea for help, one that wrenched at Wonka's heartstrings for putting him in such a situation.

"It's alright Charlie, it's alright," he said, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. "Don't worry, just calm down."

"Don't worry?!" Charlie exclaimed, looking like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. "What do you mean 'don't worry'?!" His eyes darted back and forth between Wonka and Doris.

"Charlie, Willy's right, just calm down," said Doris, speaking up in her soothing voice. "You're not in trouble. I _know._"

"You… know?" he adopted a stunned expression. "What… what do you mean?"

"Doris has… known for a while," Wonka explained, and the panicked look on his heir's face grew. "But it's alright! You can trust Doris, she's not gunna tell your parents."

"You're… not?" Charlie asked, his eyes like an owl's.

"I know Willy's not going to hurt you, so there's no point involving them if you don't want them to be involved," Doris said helplessly.

Charlie frowned, completely astonished by this turn of events. "Oh," he said, and he allowed a weak smile to creep onto his face. "So you'll be sort of like… a secret-keeper? Like from Harry Potter?"

"Yeah," said Wonka, rubbing his shoulder. "So don't worry, none of the Oompa-Loompas will tell your old Dad and Mum. They aren't that stu-" Wonka stopped in his tracks, noticing Charlie's horrified face. "Wut is it?" he asked.

Charlie spoke very slowly. "What do you mean… _the_ Oompa-Loompas?"

Doris coughed. "Two of the cleaning staff came in here earlier. They- uh- didn't stay quiet for long."

"…This wasn't how it was supposed to be," Charlie said, in a tiny voice. "We were… we were going to keep very quiet, and then no one would find out. It was going to be our secret. What are we going to do now?" He was almost in tears. Past caring that Doris was there, he threw himself into Wonka's arms. "Do you know what happened when the Potters secret keeper told? Voldemort killed them."

"Now, now, no one's going to be doing any killing here-" began Doris.

Abruptly, Wonka laughed, interrupting Doris who stopped with a perturbed look in her eyes. This wasn't his usual little giggle, any sort of 'hehe' or 'haha, but an out and out full on laugh. He coupled this with a wide grin, sparkling with some sort of determination.

"Let 'em all find out!" he cried, tightening his grip on Charlie, as though protecting him from oncoming monsters. Charlie gazed at him with wide eyes. "What does it all matter? I should have seen it earlier! Charlie, this world is yours 'an mine, who is going to dare and stop us? Hey moral-Doris, you just watch this."

He tilted Charlie's head up, though not roughly, from where the boy was staring at him looking awe-struck and captivated. He kissed him, planting a huge smackeroo on his lips which left Charlie dizzy and reeling from it.

Doris kept her mouth tight-lipped, feeling as though she'd just witnessed a bank robbery.

"Come on Charlie, time ta go. Up you get- my legs have gone to sleep." Charlie quickly obeyed, and Wonka got up, showing no sign of such sleepiness.

"See you later Doris," he said, sweeping out of the room. "Come on, ya slow poke!" he called from somewhere down the corridor. Charlie hopped off after him.

"Charlie!" Doris shouted, stopping the boy in the doorway. He span around on his heel, meeting her flustered face with his own new permanently startled one. "Charlie…" she said, "are you sure you're okay?"

Charlie blinked a few times, and the shell-shocked look peeled off, revealing an angelic smile. "Don't worry about me Miss Doris- I'm very happy."

"Charlie!" called Wonka, sounding even more distant. The boy rushed off after him.

Doris felt worn out. She slumped down on a fallen cushion, exhausted. She really was starting to wonder about all this. It was all very well when it was just Wonka's feelings- she hadn't actually thought that _this _would happen. She'd never seen a relationship with so many problems before, and they had only just gotten together!

'Still, I guess this is just what being a "Mum" is all about,' she thought, and she laughed, hysterically, at the absurdity of it all.

x

Charlie hurried down the corridor and quickly caught up with Wonka, who was taking determined strides towards the Elevator. He stepped inside and noticed Charlie.

"Oh good," he said cheerfully. "I was starting to worry that Doris had kidnapped you." He pressed a button and the doors folded shut, setting off at a marginally slower rate. Apparently the Elevator was feeling a little tired today.

The boy was still feeling taken aback from the encounter with Doris, and amazed how calm Wonka had been. He himself had been **terrified.** After all the effort he put in to tell Wonka his feelings, he was sure that he'd be torn away from him, all his work for nothing. How cruel would that be? One evening of bliss, then gone in an instant. He didn't think he'd be able to stand it.

But somehow, amazingly, everything was…alright. Everything was okay. And as for how Wonka had dealt with Doris…

'That was amazing! I would never have the courage to do something like that.' He smiled adoringly at the man. 'Mr Wonka sure is brilliant, he can do anything."

"Where are we going?" he asked curiously, still with his endearing smile.

"We gotta pop over to the Inventing Room for a bit. I was experimenting with something last night, and I left the Oompa-Loompas to take care of it for me. Yer going to love it Charlie- it's gunna be the best Wonka invention yet!"

Charlie hung on his every word.

"What is it?" he asked, and Wonka tapped his nose in reply.

"You'll see."

Just then, a thought shot into Charlie's mind like lightning. "W-wait a sec. All the Oompa-Loompas in the Inventing Room, they'll know! How… how are we supposed to face them all?"

Wonka spun around to face Charlie, putting one hand on his hips. "Ain'cha been listening to anything I said back there? I meant it you know, we've got nothing to be ashamed of. Now c'mon, stop fussing. If you want to live on the edge of a knife, then you have to be prepared to get cut."

The Elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open on the Inventing Room. Wonka stepped forward. "Come on," he repeated. Charlie hesitantly moved inside. Dozens of curious eyes looked over at them, and Charlie blushed. Oompa-Loompas being Oompa-Loompas, their expressions were difficult to read, but Charlie couldn't help but wonder what sorts of things were running through their minds right now.

He wished the floor would come up and swallow him.

But Wonka gave him a brave look that helped dispel his cowardice, and whispered "No fear!". Then, before Charlie had realised what Wonka was doing, he'd clasped the boy's hand in his own, and marched him down to where a vat sat bubbling over a huge furnace.

The Oompa-Loompas merely watched on, and, once they had reached the furnace, started to disperse about the room, some of them whispering to each other discreetly.

"What do you think they're talking about?" Charlie said quietly, his eyes on the floor, squeezing his mentor's hand like a lifeline.

"They're probably sayin' how sick and wrong we're acting, and how I'm a disgrace," Wonka said, all with a big smile plastered onto his face.

"What!" exclaimed Charlie, raising his head sharply.

"Well ya didn't expect they'd be talking about daisies and buttercups once this got out, didja?"

Charlie frowned and shook his head. "I guess not."

"Just ignore them, they'll get over it. It's not like they're gonna tell yer parents or anything!" He laughed at the very idea of it.

"You really think they won't?" Charlie said hopefully, still in a quiet voice so the Oompa-Loompas wouldn't hear. They were busy into their work now. Wonka looked at his heir with an eyebrow subtly raised.

"You really thought they would? Ha! How would it benefit them to do that? No, they'll just gossip about it for a few weeks and then get bored and change to a new subject. We've got mutual respect for each other, you see? They certainly wouldn't go and do somethin' like that."

Charlie gave a great breath of relief. "Thank goodness for that," he murmured.

"You worry far too much, now stop it and come look at this." He let go of the boy's hand and grabbed something long and thin from the side bench, plunging it partly into the bubbling brown mixture, while being careful not to touch it with his gloved fingers. He leant down and peered at it. Charlie saw it was a thermometer. A thermometer that said the mixture had reached three hundred degrees Celsius!

Wonka tilted his head to look up at him, and seeing his expression, he explained. "Sallow leaves. They need a very high temperature if you're to cook them. You remember where they're found?"

"Um… was it something to do with hornswoglers? Ur…"

"Yup, hornswoglers use sallow leaves as bedding in their nests, I haven't found where they actually grow yet, but they must be quite rare, or else out of reach. So, of course, they're very difficult to attain, unless you're willing to risk your hand being bitten off. You remember the properties?"

Charlie knotted his brow, and then exclaimed, "Flight! Sallow leaves cooked at high temperatures, when eaten, can give the power of flight!"

"Uh-huh. Three-hundred and seven degrees exactly. Remember, we're not just throwing newts and toadstools in into a pot and yelling 'Hocus Pocus'!- though that would be a lot easier than this, huh?"

Charlie nodded, and Wonka picked up a little cloth bag, pulling out some white spores from inside. He showed them to his apprentice, "Featherweed. Temperamental stuff, funny story- I wasn't paying attention the other day and it exploded in my face, covered me in purple goop… I was thinking about you, actually."

This sentence took Charlie off guard, usually when Wonka was doing his work he could think of nothing but candy! He blinked up at him, and Wonka, caught by his own admission, grinned sheepishly. He shook his head and threw a little featherweed into the vat.

"Where was I…? Oh yeah, featherweed has a very special property…" he stopped, "actually, you know what? Wait till we're finished, and you'll see what it does then."

They worked together for another half an hour, adding in all sorts of ingredients in varying amounts to the increasingly complicated mixture. Wonka quizzed Charlie on each ingredient, explaining patiently if he'd forgotten it.

When they'd finished Wonka called over an Oompa-Loompa from his personal team, Charlie looking down at his feet, and asked him if the 'mould' were ready. Charlie hoped it wasn't the green fuzzy variety, and thankfully, the little man came back with a split metal mould joined by a hinge.

"What is it supposed to be of?" Charlie asked, peering over at it.

"The best kind of prize-" Wonka begun, raising his finger.

"Is a SUR-prize," finished Charlie with a grin. "You're not going to tell me, are you?"

"Nope," said Wonka.

He pulled on a pair of heat reflective gloves, straight on the top of his normal ones (bewildering Charlie at the same time) and took the mould in both hands, dunking it into the vat and closing it inside to trap the chocolate. He carefully took it out, purposely turning the other way so Charlie wouldn't see it, and then passed it to an Oompa-Loompa wearing similar but smaller gloves on his tiny hands.

"Put this somewhere cold to cool down, kay?" The little man set off with the mould, and Wonka turned back to Charlie. "It'll take a bit to set, so yer'll have to wait for your sur-prize. What'cha say to having a bit of a walk about till it's ready?"

"Sure!" said Charlie cheerfully.

"Then it's off to adventure!" Wonka exclaimed with enthusiasm, flinging an arm into the air. They set off on foot, Charlie following Wonka- though he'd made it sound as though he didn't know where they'd go, Charlie got the distinct feeling he had an ultimate destination in mind.

They passed Fudge mountain, Charlie shivering and hugging his arms to his chest as Wonka interrogated an Oompa-Loompa as to whether they'd hit the fudge vein they were digging for. After that they had to stop to help a young Loompa panicking over the right way to activate the cross-switches for the machine that added the nuts to the nutty chocolate.

Charlie noticed that the little men and women were still looking at them peculiarly, but slowly the fear of that started to wear off, and he began to stride along fearlessly next to his mentor. He wondered where he was taking him, and he hoped Wonka would kiss him again soon. His skin tingled at the prospect.

The pair rounded the long winding corridors, Charlie following Wonka's lead. He picked out the names of the rooms as they passed them, in his mind going through any new additions that had been added nearby. He couldn't, however, see why Wonka would be taking him to see any of those rooms, and in the end he gave up.

Just as he did so however, they reached their destination.

A large white airlock stood in front of them, bearing the name Space Oddity, which was written above it.

"Wow…" muttered Charlie, "since when has this been here?"

"About two hours ago," said Wonka, and he pressed a protruding rainbow button at the side of the airlock. With a _Psssshhh!_ sound the airlock slid open, and they strolled inside.

Or rather, outside.

Charlie had been expected to be pulled into a spaceship, a launch centre of some kind, he sure hadn't expected to actually be dragged out into space! But there he was, standing in the stars, his feet resting on other-worldly swirling stardust that made a path through space, a probe floating somewhere in the distance. Wonka's hat started to lift off his head, and he pressed it down firmly.

"This is _so_ cool!" Charlie ran down the starry path, leaping high into the air, as it dipped, turned, and even looped the loop. It led down to a small grey planet- no, not a planet. Charlie recognised those craters; he was heading down onto the moon!

He rushed down onto it, turning around and gazing up at the stars that shined so bright. The light pollution from London made it so that you couldn't see some of the fainter stars, Charlie was sure he could see every single star there was now. At every patch of sky he looked at, more stars seemed to burst into existence before his eyes. As he tried to spot some of the constellations Wonka had pointed out to him last night, the man arrived beside him, having taken a more casual speed to get there.

"It's still a work in progress, but it's almost done," he said, and he pointed up to where the sun hung from a string, Oompa-Loompas in astronaut suits floating about, trying to push it into place.

"Why the suits?" asked Charlie. "Surely they don't need them. We're okay like this, aren't we?"

"Charlie, Charlie, Charlie…" Wonka shook his head, "does a peacock need those colourful feathers of his? A butterfly need such colourful wings? Of course not, they're just for decoration. If nature had intended us all to be practical, all butterflies would be moths and peacocks would all be pigeons."

"Actually," Charlie pointed out, "the zookeeper at Whipsnade told me peacocks are so flamboyant- I think that's the right word- because it's how they attract a mate."

Charlie was about to carry on, but either because Wonka couldn't conjure an adequate response, or because of Charlie's talk of flamboyance attracting mates- most likely both, he now raised a suggestive eyebrow and slowly dipped down to silence the child with a lingering kiss.

Charlie, as he always was with Wonka's kisses, was stupefied into submission.

"Surely flamboyant things aren't all bad?" Wonka asked, gesturing to himself with a snap of his heels.

Blinking himself back to reality, Charlie replied, "You're just one giant big butterfly yourself, Mr Wonka."

A finger was raised to the chin to form an ostentatious thoughtful position. "A big butterfly… yah know, I quite like that." He gave a short sharp laugh and threw himself down onto the grey surface, patting the space next to him. "Come sit down Charlie."

He dutifully settled down next to the man, glancing at his hand and questioning whether to take hold of it or not. After last night's burst of courage, he seemed to have turned awfully shy. Following weeks of dreaming, the real thing came almost as a surprise. He was still getting used to it all.

His heart thumping in his chest, he carefully reached out to Wonka's hand, hesitated, then pulled his own back again. Wonka, who'd caught the movement in the corner of his eye, looked at him, laughed silently, and took his hand himself.

"I'm not gunna eat you, you know," he said, and he moved his head closer to Charlie's ear. "Well…" he whispered seductively, "not much of you anyway." He snaked his arm over Charlie's shoulders and pressed his lips to his ear, gently sucking on it and sending electric shivers down his spine. His lips moved along the outside edge of it, freezing the boy in his place. He bit down with his perfectly aligned incisors, causing a feeling of not-quite pain, not-quite pleasure that made Charlie release a little mewing moan into the air.

Wonka moved his head round and locked him in a kiss, his hands gliding up Charlie's neck, rubbing up against the hairs that stood on end. Charlie sunk into his arms, as if to say, Please, mercy.

He lay there for a moment, smelling the scent of the man, and lazily lifted his head, entwining his fingers with Wonka's, looking to the sky above them. Something was rising on the horizon. Something huge, though he had no idea what it was. His mentor followed his line of sight and smiled softly.

"Ah, there she is," he murmured, "resplendent in all her heavenly wonders, swathed in divine silk…"

"That's… the Earth?" Charlie asked.

"Yes, well… a replica anyway. Not as good as the real thing, but pretty darn close."

"So this is… the Earthrise?"

"Ooh, I like that. I hadn't really given it a name, but that sounds good. Ya got some good ideas today Charlie, the creative juices are flowing in you, I can tell."

The Earth rose over the curved surface of the moon, a divine body among planets. A giant orb of life and greenery, radiant among mere floating spheres.

"This is much better than when we went to the Space Hotel USA, much, much better. We never went to the moon then, and there aren't any whangdoodles here… right?"

"Nope, no whangdoodles whatsoever. Space isn't as realistic without them, but I didn't want to put you in danger." He flashed one of those rare compassionate looks and made Charlie's heart flutter. He pressed their joined hands to his chest.

"You don't need to worry about me," he said, "I have battle scars now," he rolled up his sleeve and gestured to an almost healed but deep looking cut on his arm. "I tried to fight them, you know. I don't like fighting, but seeing them hurt Rowan… I just sort of forgot about that."

"Which is why I won't let you get in that situation again. You have enough bruises as it is, and knowing you, you'll try and do something valiant and end up getting hurt."

Charlie pulled away from him. "But isn't being valiant good, if you do it for someone you care about?"

Wonka threw on a look of mock confusion. "Are you trying to say that you _want_ me to catch some whangdoodles and put them in this room so you can save me from them?"

Charlie snorted and shook his head, but then pressed his lips together and drew up a look of seriousness. "What I meant… what I mean is… you can rely on me. You don't need to cover me in cotton wool, I've got parents to do that. I want to be _useful_ to you, Mr Wonka."

He spoke with such a passion that the man turned and gripped his shoulders tightly, looking him straight in the eye. "You **are** useful to me Charlie, I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have you. And I'm not jus' talking about your help making candy, you help keep me sane. I…" he shifted around, looking uncomfortable, and muttered a few words in an undertone.

"Pardon?" asked Charlie, his skin buzzing.

"Don'cha worry, I'm chatting nonsense again. What I mean to say is that you're important to me, and that I don't want to lose you. But, if it means so much to you, I think I know a way you can be 'useful' but, only if yer really sure. I'm going on a trip to Loompa Land on Christmas day; there's a rare flower that only blooms then. If you wish, you can come and assist me. But it'll be dangerous, much more so than you can imagine. Think hard on it."

Biting the inside of his lip, Charlie did think very hard. On one hand, he wanted more than anything to prove himself to Wonka, but… on Christmas day? He always spent that with his family, what would they say if he told them he wanted to go off with Wonka? Would they even let him?

Nevertheless, the desire to prove himself to Wonka burned brighter. He wanted to show him that while he was still a kid, he was as useful and helpful as and adult, and, most of all, he wanted the man to be proud of him. The flame licked about inside of him, shuddering with heat, and he surrendered into it.

"There's nothing to think about. I'm in!"

A pang of nervousness- and the feeling of betrayal- ran through him, but he swallowed it down.

The Earth rose higher in the mock-sky as they watched, exchanging small talk as it engulfed the horizon.

"Look at the clouds over that part of America, they're all swirly. Do you think they're having a tornado?"

"Britain looks _tiny_- I can't even see London."

"So the _An_tarctic is the one at the bottom…right?"

Soon the Earth had risen completely, and Wonka himself rose to his feet. "Righto'!" he sang, "that's enough lollygagging around for now, time ta get back to work!"

As they headed back to the Inventing Room, Charlie had a peculiar and amusing thought. It was traditional for couples to watch the sunrise, so had Wonka, in his own way, just attempted to be romantic and taken him to watch the Earthrise instead?

The idea of a romantic Wonka was too funny to contemplate, and Charlie giggled, raising his hand over his mouth to cover it.

The chocolate had set in the mould by the time they got back, and Charlie watched eagerly as Wonka split it open, making sure he took the utmost care. He prised the two pieces apart, laying them flat on the table. Charlie peeked closer, still trying to work out what it was.

From inside the shell-like case something stirred, stretching into wakefulness. The chocolate nightingale turned his bright eyes on the boy and the man, fixing them with a curious stare, before flapping his wings and sailing up into the air, showering them both in something golden that floated down around them. Charlie caught one as it fell, and turned it over in his hand.

"They're little toffees," he said, a bemused look covering his face.

The nightingale flew up to the top of the building and circled round, before coming to rest on the balcony rail. The same balcony where he had realised his feelings for Wonka. There he opened his beak, and began to sing. If the very Earth could sing, that was what it would sound like. Waves of heavenly music washed over them, and Charlie was transfixed, his limbs hanging limply, immobilised by the bird's song. Something stirred inside him, and he clutched hold of Wonka's arm, wanting to say something meaningful. No words came to him, and instead he clung on, bringing himself close up to Wonka's breast, as the man brought his hands around him to lock him into an embrace.

An Oompa-Loompa scurried up to Wonka, and reluctantly he let one hand go from Charlie so he could bend down.

"Chief Wonka sir, the child's parents are looking for him. They're quite worried."

Wonka glanced up to Charlie, who seemed undisturbed by these words, still caught by the passion of the music and his own overwhelming feelings. He took hold of Wonka's arm and pulled him to his feet, brushing his lips with a feathery chaste kiss.

"Tell them… I'm working on something urgent," he said, not looking at the small man, caught in his mentor's eyes. "Tell them I'll be back later."

* * *

><p>Lots of references in this one…<p>

The quote at the top is from the manga Angel Sanctuary, a great thing to read if you dig the whole 'forbidden love' thing. I absolutely adore this line, and thought it'd fit in well here. I've been planning on including it for some time now.

'Slitherer-outerer' is from the book Howl's Moving Castle by Diana Wynne. It's the book they based the Studio Ghibli movie on, and in my opinion, it's much better than the film.

I'm pretty sure I've stolen 'Space Oddity' from somewhere, though I can't seem to remember where… it came straight into my mind when I wanted a name from the room, but I think I've subconsciously nicked it.


	18. Chapter 18

_Chapter XVIII- Trouble at the Buckets_

Several hours later, and Charlie and Wonka were riding the Elevator back to the Chocolate Room.

"D'ya think your parents will be angry with you short stuff?" Wonka asked, "You have been gone for a long time. They probably wondered where you went last night."

"Oh," said Charlie, looking surprised. "I didn't think about that… they'll be fine with it, I expect."

The Elevator came to a stop with a _ding _and the man and boy walked over to the house, Charlie with a peculiar feeling in the back of his head that years had passed since he left just the night before. They approached the front door, and Charlie confidently pushed it open.

There was no sudden exclamation, no cheer or sigh; everyone just looked up wearily and with relief. Mrs Bucket stepped towards her son and fixed him with a cold gaze.

"We've been worried," she said. "Where've you been?"

Without any warning, all the warmth in Charlie dissipated, as though it had been sucked out of him. Shouting would have been better than this cool indifference, he thought. His answer died in his mouth.

"I've been… we've been, I mean I've been with Mr Wonka. We got caught up working on something, forgot about the time…"

"A chocolate nightingale," Wonka chirped in, seeing Charlie struggling. "A new product in our chocolate animals range, now with the power of flight!"

Mrs Bucket looked at the pair with sad disappointment in her soul, and she said, "Willy, would you mind talking outside with me for a moment?"

"Oh, uh, okay. Sure!" said Wonka, his eyebrows raised.

Charlie shot Wonka a worried look, and the man headed outside with his mother, who shut the door to stop her son listening in.

"Willy…" begun Mrs Bucket, looking a little anxious. "I hate to ask this of you, but could you please keep a closer eye on the time in the future? I wouldn't ask, but…"

"No, no. I quite understand," Wonka said, his gaze directed to a patch of wall beside Mrs Bucket's head.

"It's just that this has happened before, and Charlie's only a little boy, he's growing and needs his sleep. It's not healthy for him to be up all night, and, well, we all can't help but worry about him too. It'd give us all a great deal of ease if you could get him back to us, by, I don't know… ten o' clock each night. Or at least to give us a message letting us know where he is if you're doing something important."

"That's fine," said Wonka. "I'll make sure I do. I'll- uh- leave him in your care now."

Mrs Bucket bobbed her head politely, and Wonka strode off over the grass. She turned towards the door, and there allowed her steadfast cheery smile to droop somewhat, as she grumbled irritably. She shook it off, and turned the door handle, entering the house once more. There, she witnessed a highly peculiar scene.

Usually the Bucket household was filled with cheer, bad jokes, and the occasional grumble. But now it was filled with an awkwardness that pervaded all the way to the core. It was silent, the boy's grandparents and his father sitting in their respective places, and Charlie standing, his hands fidgeting nervously, looking like a man on trial.

Mrs Bucket inclined her head, a vague feeling coming upon her that something was amiss, and it didn't have anything to do with the disappointment subtly etched in all the Buckets' faces. Something seemed different about her child… she didn't understand it, but he seemed to have changed overnight. Even though he was nervous, there was something in the way his sad eyes glittered, the brighter colour in his cheeks. Her mother's instinct was trying to tell her something, but she couldn't for the life of her figure out what.

She wandered up behind him, and carefully touched his shoulder.

As though she'd pressed a button, he span around, looking incredibly sorrowful.

"I'm sorry!" he burst out, "I know I shouldn't have done it, but I lost track of time and… then forgot! Please, don't be mad at me…!"

"It's alright," said his mother, stroking his hair comfortingly, "it wasn't only your fault. I've talked to Willy about it too. But it's not going to happen again, right?"

"It won't!" said Charlie, relieved.

He looked around him, still feeling the lingering tension in the room. "Is… is it alright if I go out and play? I'll stay in this room."

"Alright, but _just _this room."

Charlie flitted out, and Mrs Bucket, watching, bit her lip in worry, before getting back to her half-hearted chores.

He ran to a thick patch of mushrooms, as large as himself, and threw his body underneath them, out of sight. He felt selfish and mean for forgetting about his family, and even more selfish and mean for lying to get out of it.

He couldn't help but think to himself, 'What am I becoming?'

x

It was with apprehension that Charlie climbed downstairs the next morning. His mother's rare moods tended to drag on for a long time, sometimes even days, so he was nervous about what sort of reception he was going to receive when he presented himself. He thought everyone was still asleep, but as he reached the bottom of the ladder Mrs Bucket appeared around the corner, his heart doing a show dive into his stomach.

"Um… hi," said Charlie shyly, his face downturned.

"Hullo Charlie, you sleep alright?" She sounded her normal self, and a big smile returned to Charlie's face.

"Yes, very well thanks!" he said.

"Your father just left for work. It's his last day today before Christmas you know- only three days left." She smiled at him, "I thought today would be a good day to put the Christmas tree up, that way we'll be all prepared. I've already finished the cake, I put the marzipan on yesterday."

Charlie smiled gratefully back, and they spent the morning putting up the tree and making star shaped biscuits which they covered in coloured icing and hung from the branches.

Lingering in his mind however, was the thought of how he was going to broach the subject of the Loompa Land trip. His mother was in a better mood now, but would the news of his upcoming departure (on Christmas Day, no less) restore her to her former annoyed self? Charlie got the feeling it would.

And also, did he even really want to go? Christmas was Christmas, a day for celebration and family- what gave him the right to go gallivanting off into the jungle, forgetting all that?

On the other hand, as he kept reminding himself, he **was** Wonka's heir, and instead of thinking of it as abandoning his family, he ought to consider it as… a business trip.

'Yes, that's right. It's a business trip, like the ones those fancy executives go on. It's not like I'm going to be having fun, or anything like that!'

He remembered Wonka's ominous words about how dangerous it would be, and felt afraid.

Shortly after they finished, Charlie bending down to retrieve a run-away bauble, there was a knock at the door. An Oompa-Loompa entered, and tugged at Charlie's sleeve as he crouched down by the tree.

"Mr Bucket sir," he said, "Chief Wonka requires your presence in the Addressing Room. There's been a problem with the labeller and he needs your urgent help."

Charlie stood. "There's a problem in the Addressing Room Mum… Mr Wonka asked me to come. Is that alright…?"

Mrs Bucket stopped what she was doing, baking tray poised in her frozen hands. Her mouth twitched ever so slightly, and she set the tray down.

"Emergencies are emergencies Charlie. Now off you go,"

She briefly took hold of his hand, and let it drop beside him.

"Thanks Mum." Charlie scampered off out of the door, zooming over to the Elevator, the smell of sweet sugar flowers invading his senses. He darted inside. There was a resounding _ding _as his finger searched out the Addressing Room button, and ten seconds later he was there.

In his mind's eye, he could see it all; labels flying high in the air, walls addressed to Japan, Wonka wrapped up on the ground with sticky tape, a living mummy.

What he actually saw on arrival was something a _little_ bit different. Everything seemed neat and tidy, the machines all running smoothly. In fact, there seemed to be no problem at all. The only thing that seemed out of place was Wonka himself, sitting on top of one of the machines, dressed in a snazzy multi-coloured suit, grinning down at Charlie like a Cheshire cat.

"Bonjour, mon petit amour!" he called down, in a perfect accent. He followed this with a spectacular leap, landing on the floor, a cat in action as well as in appearance.

"Mon Charlie." He kissed the boy's hand.

"Uh… bonjour?" muttered Charlie, bewildered. He didn't have a clue as to what Wonka had just said to him, though he gathered that he must be in a very good mood today. He peered around, seeing the machinery spinning on as normal.

"Did you fix the problem then?" he asked naively.

"Nope," replied Wonka. "As they say, if it's broken, don't fix it."

Charlie had to take a few seconds to figure out what he meant by this.

"Do you mean… nothing was broken to begin with? Why did you call for me then?"

"Because I'm incredibly clever," Wonka tapped his nose with a neon green gloved finger.

Slowly, the realisation dawned on Charlie. "Ohh-hh," he said, stretching the syllables out like an accordion. "That was very sneaky sir."

Wonka giggled, Charlie laughed, and they went off together, arm in arm.

x

It was Christmas Eve, and Charlie still hadn't told his parents about the trip. Glitter sparkled from every corner of the factory, Oompa-Loompas wore tinselled hats, and the Buckets were singing Christmas carols.

Willy Wonka meanwhile, was trying on a pair of yellow-brown Wellington boots in his room. Charlie sat nearby, perched on a footstool, restraining laughter as Wonka struggled into them. He pulled harder, and tripped over the coffee table, tumbling onto the carpet. Charlie burst out laughing, his hand covering his mouth.

"Too small, Mr Wonka!" he cried.

"Musta' been that shrinking solution the other day," muttered Wonka with embarrassment, "they can't have fully reverted back yet." He got up and threw the boots into the open wardrobe, before getting down onto his knees to rummage for another pair.

While he was doing so, Charlie amused himself by inspecting Wonka's odd chest of drawers with the strangely shaped draws of varying sizes.

"What do you keep in the tiny draws?" Charlie asked, "surely you can fit only pins in some of them."

"Have a look if you like," said a floating voice from the vicinity of the wardrobe, "just don't open the secret diary sized one."

"You have a secret diary?" Charlie knelt down to search for such a draw.

"Of course not, silly," replied the voice, which then became a person and withdrew from the wardrobe with another pair of boots in hand.

Charlie tried a smallish draw, and picked up the contents with an amused smile.

"A dog's chew toy?" he asked, holding the plastic squeaky bone in his hand.

"You can never be too careful." This was followed by a sigh of relief as the boot, literally, fit. He pulled on the other one, stealing a glance of Charlie as he eyed a wok in surprise, the corner of Wonka's subversive mouth twitching slyly.

"I also have some clothes for you," he said.

"For me?" Charlie asked, pointing to himself.

"If you wear that jersey you're going to be eaten by a whangdoodle. You need camouflage."

Charlie picked up the hem of his bright red Christmas jersey (knitted lovingly by Grandma Josephine) and inwardly agreed.

"So, army stuff then?"

"Yeh, pretty much. Not the most stylish clothes on the catwalk, but it'll keep ya alive. Just hold on a minute…" he bobbed back to the wardrobe and bounced out again, holding a small pair of brown trousers, a long shirt, a swamp green jacket and a belt with attachments for lots of different things.

"I've got some boots for you too," he added, passing it all to Charlie. "You ought to try it all on, just to make sure it fits." His eyes twinkled deviously.

Charlie blushed. Then he blushed some more. And more.

"Now?" he squeaked shrilly.

"It might be as well," said Wonka flippantly, wandering to the chest of drawers to rearrange something.

Charlie stood unsurely, glancing from the pile of clothes to Wonka pondering ostentatiously over a selection of gloves.

"I'll… gogetdressedintheotherroom," he said very quickly, his cheeks beetroot, before he ran out at top speeds towards the bathroom.

Wonka chuckled. He knew he shouldn't tease the boy, but he couldn't help himself- it was just too much fun.

When Charlie came back, sporting his new jungle gear and a slightly less red face, Wonka said absently to him, "You have told your Mum and pop you're going, right?" to which Charlie wringed his hands and shifted to the other foot.

"Um, well… no," he said, "I uh, wasn't too sure what to say, to be honest."

Wonka scrutinised him, laughing, with a roll of the eyes. "How about, 'can I go with fab Mr Wonka tomorrow to find a special flower in Loompa Land?'"

"You make it sound so easy," Charlie shook his head, "but it's Christmas tomorrow, and they know Loompa Land is dangerous. It's not going to be easy for me to convince them you know."

Wonka strolled across the room contemplatively, and leant against the side of the wardrobe, his hands resting flat on it. "Lemme' talk to them," he said, "I'll convince 'em."

Charlie threw him a look of relief. It caught Wonka squarely in the chest, and he wobbled and fell flat on the floor.

"Thanks Mr Wonka," said Charlie with gusto, "that's a real load off my mind."

x

Mrs Bucket was picking sugar snowdrops in the Chocolate Room. She made sure to break them off a little way up the stem so they could grow back again_. If_ they could grow back again, that is. She wasn't sure if they would or not, but she thought it would be interesting to find out.

Fake sugar snow lined the fake sugar grass, making the room even more sweet than usual. Despite this, Mrs Bucket continued to feel uneasy. For one of the first times in her life, relations with her son were strained. He'd apologised, yes, but there was still something different about him. It felt as though… he was being drawn away somehow. She wondered briefly if he hadn't fallen in with a bad crowd at school that were changing the way he thought.

She gathered up the flowers in her arms and brought them back inside of the house, putting them in the blue vase she and her husband had received as a wedding present. It was cracked.

She spoke to her father quickly, listening as he complained of politicians and the local MP before she glimpsed a snatch of her son returning, Wonka striding along beside him. Charlie had changed back into his regular clothes, not wanting to appear presumptuous. Wonka however was ambling along in his jungle gear, something Mrs Bucket noticed straight away, thinking he looked like an old-fashioned explorer. They came straight in, Charlie wiping his feet on the doormat.

"Afternoon, Mrs B," sung sunny Wonka, whistling a little tune.

"Goodness Willy," she said, wiping her earthy hands on her dress, "are you off to explore the Amazon rainforest today?" she examined his Wellington boots and waterproofs. 'Willy in wellies' she thought, and her mouth quirked.

"Close," said Wonka emphatically, holding up a finger. "This is actually what I've come to talk to you about. Is your dear husband home?"

"Last minute Christmas shopping, I'm afraid," she said, raising her hands and shrugging. "It's just me and Charlie's grandparents here for now." She looked over her shoulder, where the elders of the house were playing a silent and intense game of cards. Grandma Georgina appeared to be holding hers upside down.

"I'll put the kettle on, shall I?" Mrs Bucket asked.

"That'd be super," Wonka replied, "I'll have six sugars, thanks."

The kettle screeched and boiled, and Mrs Bucket made three cups of tea. She sat down across the table from Wonka, Charlie at his side, the warm mug in her hands.

"What was it you wanted to talk about?" she said, taking a sip from her drink.

Wonka folded his arms in a very business-like way, and laid them down on the table. "I shan't dilly-dally on about it, basically, I want to take Charlie on a trip with me to gather a special flower for a new recipe."

"A trip?" Mrs Bucket said, "where to?"

"Loompa Land," said Wonka.

Mrs Bucket grew solemn at this. "Willy, isn't Loompa Land dangerous? I remember you telling us about it a few months ago- all those whongdaddles and handwagglers you talked about… Charlie's only twelve you know."

The said person shifted in his seat. Under the table, he joined hands with Wonka.

"I won't lie to you- it is dangerous. But Loompa Land is my primary source for ingredients, therefore one day it'll be Charlie's. He needs to get used to visiting it, and 'sides, I'll make sure nothing happens to him. You've got my word on that."

Mrs Bucket hesitated. "I don't know…"

"You ought to let the boy go," said another voice from the other side of the room. It was Grandpa George. They'd now finished their game (Georgina brandishing her cards triumphantly) and had switched to eavesdropping in on the conversation.

"But Dad," complained Mrs Bucket, looking towards George, "_who knows_ what might happen? Charlie's too young for all of this- surely he can go when he's older."

"I… have to say I agree with George on this," said Joe, passing her daughter-in-law a wincing 'sorry' look. "Charlie might be young, but he'll be running a grand factory one day. He needs the experience. Besides, I trust Willy completely, if he says Charlie will be fine, then he'll be absolutely fine."

"It might toughen him up too," added George.

Mrs Bucket scrunched up her mouth, irritation in her expression.

"Charlie, do you really want to go?" she asked, helplessly.

The boy nodded fervently. "I do. Please let me go Mum."

Mrs Bucket "hmm"'d and "urm"'d, and then asked Wonka, "When is this trip anyway?"

"Tommorrow," said Wonka, inwardly cringing.

"Tommorrow!" Mrs Bucket spluttered. "But tomorrow is Christmas Day! Why in the world do you have to go then?"

"The crystal heart only blooms on Christmas Day, I'm afraid. It's the only day we'll have a chance in finding it. I know its awkward timing, and obviously ya don't want Charlie away that day, but-"

"No, no, no, no. No." Mrs Bucket shook her head decisively, holding up a hand to halt Wonka. "I'm against the idea in the first place, but Christmas Day is-"

She was hit back with a wall of complaints, not just from Charlie, but from the grandparents too.

"Not right…!" she finished.

"Oh, please Mum!" cried Charlie, squeezing his hands together plaintively. "_Please_! It's only for one day- and I'll be fine, honest!"

The head shaking continued. "I've already told you- no. And besides, even if I thought you could go I'd need to talk it over with your father-"

"But he won't mind!" interrupted Charlie, surprising Mrs Bucket. It was rare for him to interrupt when someone else was speaking. She was just about to scold him when Grandma Josephine spoke, softly, in her old slow voice.

"Dear, I think he would agree with Willy too. As much as we don't want to see Charlie in danger, Joe's right, Charlie needs the experience. It's sad it has to be tomorrow, but he can always have his presents another time. There's always Boxing Day."

Mrs Bucket was silent for a time. She threw up her hands in the air of defeat, tugging on a weak smile.

"What can I do?" she said, sounding falsely cheery. "I've been voted out. You can go Charlie. But Willy-" she fixed him with a serious stare, "you bring him back in one piece, you hear?"

"Of course," said Wonka, Charlie grinning beside him. The man got up, but gestured Charlie back down when he tried to do the same. "I'll sort everything out; you just stay here with your family. They're gonna miss you, ya know?" he winked, "I'll come for you at five tomorrow morning, we're going to need an early start. Seeya later alligator,"

"In a while, crocodile," they grinned at each other, and Wonka disappeared out the door. The smile still on his face, he turned back towards his mother, opening his mouth to thank her. When he noticed the murderous look in her eyes however, he quickly shut it again.

She stood up and paced to the other side of the house and back again. She rearranged the kitchen things, despite their already neat order. She fiddled with the curtains, even though they were hanging straight. Then she whirled round to face them all, Charlie and grandparents included, and spoke in a low breathless whisper.

"I don't know why you all constantly undermine me, do you enjoy making me look foolish in front of other people?" Her voice rose with every word, becoming shrill, for she had the sort of voice that wouldn't raise easily, and became croaky and squeaky when it did.

"Why does nobody listen to me, why do they always talk over the top of me? Well I'm sick of it! I'm _sick_ of all of it!"

She trembled as she leant against the wall, her hands quivering.

"I am-" she begun, "I'm not just-" but she couldn't finish, and instead walked out the door, slamming it violently behind her. They all heard a soft hiccup, and, afterwards, nothing.

A cold silence filled the house.

x

The cool night breeze blew in through the open window, ruffling the curtains, an invisible hand flipping through the pages of an open book. Deep in dreamless sleep Wonka shivered, and awoke. He pulled himself up, looking blearily towards the window, where a rather large surprise awaited him.

"Charlie…?" he murmured to the boy sitting sideways on the edge of the bed, contemplating the night sky.

"I can see Aquarius," he said, almost inaudibly. Wonka noticed a sad soft glow emanating from him, a soft shimmer in the twilight of the room. "They're so bright tonight," he whispered, and he slowly moved his head round to face Wonka, "don't you think?"

The wind picked up, and began to howl. Something outside rattled. Wonka could feel goosebumps picking up on his skin.

"Charlie, are you alright?" he asked.

Just as dreamily as before, the boy shook his head. Wonka shifted closer to him.

"What happened?"

"Too much arguing," Charlie said, not looking directly at him. "Everyone was shouting, Dad came home, and they all yelled some more. I couldn't sleep, and came here. I just couldn't… it felt like there was a weight pressing down on me. I had to get out."

Wonka put his arm around the moony child, drawing him closer to himself. The pages of the book flipped back the other way with a _fwick!_

"Sometimes… sometimes families argue. I know yours though, and they'll be fine again soon. So don't worry about it."

All at once, Charlie seemed to snap out of his trance. He looked Wonka directly in the eye.

"I don't know what I'd do without you Mr Wonka, I really don't." His own eyes watered, and soon he was crying noiselessly into Wonka's silk pyjamas, the man gently stroking his feathery hair.

"Can I stay here with you?" Charlie asked after a few minutes, his voice a little muffled. "I don't want to go back, not yet."

"Of course you can," said Wonka, and he rose up to shut the window. It closed with a click, and the pages came to a standstill, fluttering down back into place. The howling became softer, the clanging of the drainage pipe a quiet tapping.

Charlie had already clambered into bed and thrown the plum duvet over himself, so Wonka came round from the other side and slid himself in between the covers there. They lay facing each other, Wonka's hair splayed across the pillow. Charlie smiled shyly, weakly.

"I wonder what the time is…" he said, rubbing his eyes.

"Must be at least two by now," said Wonka, glancing at the shadows that fell across the floor. "That means it's Christmas Day," he laughed placidly.

"Merry Christmas," said Charlie, his eyelids sinking. They joined hands.

"Merry Christmas Charlie," said Wonka.

* * *

><p>When Wonka starts jabbering away in French he says 'Hello my small love' and then he says 'my Charlie'. He's trying to make a joke about how short Charlie is. I actually can't speak French at all very well, so I was using a French translator site. I considered getting it to say 'my short love' but those types of site are always risky, and indeed when I translated it back to English it started saying something about tobacco. Not good.<p>

I recently learnt that other countries don't have Boxing Day, so for those who don't know what it is, it's basically the day after Christmas Day, and is also a public holiday. Most people I know use it to visit family they didn't get to see the day before.

The final part of this chapter was partly inspired by a fanart by Loony Lucifer, known as Luciferian Principle on this site. It can be found here-

img. photobucket albums /v717/ appleheadstudios /Wonka/ mycandyman. jpg

Just take out the spaces to get it to work. :)

She's done lots of other brilliant Charlie/Wonka pictures too, and I very much recommend checking them out. They are pure awesomeness.


	19. Chapter 19

_Chapter XIX- Beneath the Canopy_

Their departure was imminent. In the early hours of the morning Charlie had crept back to his own house, now silent, not even a snore reverberating in the air, to lie quietly in his own bed. At five o' clock Wonka returned for him. He donned his clothes, swung on his backpack and made an emotional goodbye to his family, who put their differences aside to bid their Charlie farewell, and a smaller, sadder, merry Christmas.

They left the Chocolate Room, Wonka already garbed in his explorer's outfit, to enter the Elevator. He pressed a button, and it zoomed down, something Charlie noted with surprise- he had thought they would be heading Up and Out.

"Sir…?" Charlie questioned, looking up at his mentor. "Are we heading the right way?"

Wonka glanced down to him, wearing a half-smile. He tapped the button he'd pressed, showing Charlie which one it had been. It lay high up on the glass wall, out of Charlie's reach, and was entitled 'Bowels'. The boy distinctly remembered giggling at this name a year previously, meaning to fetch a step ladder and visit. However, he must have been distracted shortly after, for he had never made the trip.

"Bowels as in 'bowels of the Earth,'" explained Wonka, to which Charlie let out a soft "Ohhh," of understanding, watching as the rooms rushed past them, the Elevator picking up speed.

"You can't reach Loompa Land from outside, you see," he said, as Fudge Mountain zoomed out of sight, "because it's not _on_ the outside… but I won't spoil it for you. Just wait and see. We've got a long way to go, but anticipation only makes the prize sweeter." He winked, and slung an arm over Charlie's shoulders as the Elevator sped on.

They went down and down, even rushing straight through the eerie Minus Land, a haunting shriek piercing the glass. Charlie instinctively gripped hold of Wonka. Still they plunged down through the earth, dinosaur bones now embedded in the rock around them. They seemed to descend forever, the lights in the tunnel becoming more and more scarce, until, at last, they came to a stop with a large **thump!**

Stood in the overpowering darkness, Charlie heard the Elevator doors slide open, and felt Wonka brush past him. Charlie followed blindly, his hands raised, a strange humidity causing beads of sweat that formed upon his brow.

"Mr Wonka, where are you?" he called, and in response felt a pair of lips press against his own, a match flaring, flickering upon the face of his mentor.

"You startled me," said Charlie, flustered. Wonka replied with a quick cheeky glance, taking a torch set against the ancient walls, lighting it with the match. The yellowish light expanding in the darkness, Charlie was finally able to make out his surroundings. He was in a long high corridor, sloping downwards. The close walls beared marks of hundreds and thousands tiny symbols, linking together into an intricate pattern. Charlie came closer to inspect them, and his face lit up in recognition.

"This is Loompa, isn't it? I recognise some of the symbols." He touched them, and they shimmered, vibrating under his skin. He quickly pulled his hand back, startled. "Is this magic?" he asked.

"We're closer to the centre of the Earth here, closer to the core. This place is brimming with energy; things that may not be possible on the surface may be possible here."

Charlie laid a finger upon a symbol, which brightened, before dying away.

They continued down the narrow shaft, Wonka holding the torch before them. The corridor steepened, before dividing itself into stairs, going deeper and deeper into the earth. The air was musty, but at the same time, fully charged, like the air before a lightning storm. Every footstep echoed, and despite the tight walls closing in upon them, Charlie couldn't help but feel a sense of vastness around him. It was a little frightening, and he had to resist the urge to take Wonka's arm. He reminded himself that he was here to be useful, and not to hang upon Wonka and make himself a burden. At this thought Charlie drew himself up to his full height (which admittedly was not very high) and pressed his shoulders back, trying to look calm and collected.

The journey on foot must have elapsed several hours, hours spent on that dark humid staircase, stretching down sharply forever. But at last, Charlie noticed a slight change in the light quantity. He realised as they went on that they were fast approaching an entrance from which a light was shining, though he couldn't possibly fathom where it originated, here, in the 'Bowels of the Earth.'

As it grew brighter Wonka tossed away his torch, the tunnel shrinking, before opening out in a gaping mouth. Standing out of it, with a similar mouth of his own, Charlie admired Loompa Land.

He had in the past pictured it as a tropical island, far out to sea, secluded at the end of the world. What he now viewed was something quite different. Loompa Land was, in actuality, situated in a giant cavern, carved out of the rock due to natural causes, as high as the tallest tower block and stretching out further than the eye could see. Below the rocky outcrop he and Wonka stood upon was the vast canopy of trees, from which the screeching shrieks of animals played in the electrified air.

It was high above however that provided the foremost of delight. The roof of the cavern, far from being lined with simple rock, glowed and sparkled from every corner. From his position Charlie thought the roof was incrusted with luminescent crystals. It was _these _that created the twilight light that lighted upon them.

"Lovely, isn't it?" said Wonka, standing beside the boy, hands placed emphatically on his hips, though he turned to him afterwards and added; "Lovely as a siren, that is."

Charlie pointed to above, asking, "What are those? Some sort of diamond?"

"Actually…" said Wonka, "they're plants. Flowers ta' be precise."

Charlie handed Wonka a highly quizzical look.

"Well, I did tell you strange things happen down here," Wonka said, lightly, as he handed it back. "They have roots that stretch all the way to the surface, and from there it just looks like a leafy bush. But the leaves transmit the sunlight down here, making these little guys glow like that. At least… that's how I think it works. The Loompas who live here won't let me touch 'em."

"There are still Oompa-Loompas living here?"

"Oh ya," said Wonka. "Didn't I ever tell you 'bout this stuff? Most of them followed me to the factory, but a few stayed. This is their ancestral homeland after all. Though, if it were mine I think I'd be keen to move out straight away!"

It was as Wonka said; despite its beauty, there was an eerie feel to Loompa Land. The half-light cast by the lamp-flowers shimmered dreamily, the humid atmosphere pressing down upon him, making him sleepy. It truly was the lair of the sirens, the home of the deadly temptress; for in that beauty laid great danger. Poisonous hornswogglers, vicious trumpfeet, and cunning snozzwhangers, daffopuffs, whangdoodles, woggleboggles, with much more besides.

"We need to head to the Loompa village before we can find the crystal heart," he said, before he drew out a machete from its sheaf. "Take this, you're gunna need it."

Charlie fingered the cloth handle of the blade, feeling queer. Never one for fighting, he never figured he would hold a weapon in his hand- especially with the intention of using it. He swallowed down hard and followed Wonka from the ridge, descending below the tree line. The rocks crumbled and broke away under their heels, and Charlie reached the forest floor at a skid. The still leaves rose up above them, and they were cast under their long shadows. The sound of grasshoppers splintered into the air, birds starting a shrill chorus.

Charlie opened his mouth to speak, but Wonka stopped him, pressing a finger to his lips.

"Silence is golden, child," he said in a small voice. "If we make no noise, the nastier creatures may leave us alone."

They proceeded in silence, ducking and weaving their way through the dense foliage. Charlie marvelled at the sights around him; trees completely covered in fur, vine plants that tried to whip passers by, and most disturbingly, a pink harmless looking flower that had tried to bite his foot as he nudged it. He recognised some of them from collections in the massive stock room.

'Mr Wonka sure is braver than me, coming here so many times!' he thought, snatching his hand away as a bush sidled close to sniff it.

As Charlie quickly found, Loompa Land certainly wasn't a walk in the park. They dived behind a tree as a swarm of large bees lazily drifted past, drunk on the heat, before startling a blue and white bird with a beak like a pelican out of its nest. It began cawing, and they made a run for it, after a swift explanation from Wonka that it was calling to its friends for backup.

They stumbled into a clearing, only to back away _very_ quickly on sight of a terrible monster stripping bark from a tree ahead. It was as large as a hippo, with a grey skin to match, though all loose and flabby like a jumper you're told "you'll grow into." It sported a large trunk, and had mismatched eyes that had pinks instead of whites, and whose pupils were swirling vortexes of darkness. They retreated out of sight quickly.

"What was that?" asked Charlie breathlessly.

"Snozzwhanger," said Wonka, sweeping his windswept hair out from his face, tucking a lock safely behind his ear. "It might look like a vegetarian, but he's actually an omnivore… a sensible profession, I've always thought, since you get the best of both worlds." He paused. "Though, perhaps, not for us."

They strode on, taking a wide bypass round the snozzwhanger. Eventually, they reached the Loompa tribal village.

Small round huts hung from the trees, connected by an intricate series of bridges and rope ladders. From the forest floor, Charlie saw it as a giant spiderweb suspended in the canopy.

It was quiet however, and only a few Oompa-Loompas now traversed those bridges. As they approached, one spotted them, scrambling down a rope ladder with the agility of a tree monkey. He spoke briefly to Wonka in Loompa, and welcomed them forward. He led them up a ladder to the largest hut, and ushered Wonka inside. He gestured that Charlie should stay where he was.

Charlie wandered these bridges, hoping Wonka wouldn't be too long. He peeped inside the hut- apparently the chief's hut, and saw an Oompa-Loompa with blue watery eyes and grey hair stretching down to the floor talking to Wonka. This man was known as the Old Chief, as the real chief had left long ago to the factory, with only a miserable two dozen Loompa remaining in their tribal home. As Charlie wandered, he saw most of these, as they poked round the corners of the curtained doors to stare at him, both curious and fearful looks in their eyes, tiny babies pressed close to their mothers' chests. Charlie only wished that he knew more Loompa, so that he might talk to them.

As he was snooping around one of the many disused huts, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Wonka grinned down at him. "Having fun?" he said.

"Uh, yes?" said Charlie.

"I woz enquiring about the location of the nearest crystal heart… apparently there's one ten miles to the north east. We've gotta look for a clearing with lots of vinewood, but there's a trail leading most of the way there, so it shouldn't be too hard to find." Wonka pulled out a pocket watch from his trousers and consulted it. "Which means we have… three hours to midday. Should be enough."

Tucking it away, Wonka and his heir left the village and ventured back into the thick jungle, once again on full alert. Charlie turned to wave goodbye to the Oompa-Loompas, but they had all returned to the safety of the huts, and his hand drooped like a cut flower.

They followed the overgrown trail, once or twice straying from it, due to the unmaintained markers that had been torn away at by the vicious animals. But despite this, the trails were the safest place to be, marked out hundreds of years ago by Oompa-Loompa ancestors who knew the best routes to travel safely. After half an hour of steady walking, which wasn't punctuated by any beasties, the two slipped into conversation.

"If ya don't mind me asking," began Wonka, "what were your mum and dad arguing about yesterday? It's not like them ta fight, so I was real surprised."

"They were fighting about me going on the trip," said Charlie, his voice dropping several octaves.

"But I thought they agreed that you could go?"

"Mum still wasn't happy about it…. she does that sometimes. Pretends everything's okay in front of others, but when they leave… the smile just drops off her face. I guess she does it so as not to worry people, but if you're sad, you're sad; you shouldn't have to pretend otherwise."

"Those are some deep words, my boy," said Wonka, contemplatively. "Of course, you don't need to worry about that, being a terrible liar. Yer heart's an open book, I tell ya."

Charlie quirked him an awkward smile. "I was surprised all my grandparents thought I should go, though. I thought they'd all agree with Mum, especially Grandma Josephine. But I suppose they've got the old-fashioned views on work. They were determined that Dad should still have a job after we moved to the factory, you know. But Dad thought so too, and they didn't have to argue about that. And doing this is part of my job as being your heir, so they probably thought if I missed it I'd be skiving!"

"Heh heh," chuckled Wonka, "does that mean I can give you a pay cut if you don't show up?"

"I'm just a lowly part-timer," said Charlie, grinning. "If I did any more hours you'd be breaking the child protection laws."

Wonka gathered Charlie up into his arms, stroking the back of his hair. "I think I'm breaking a fair few of those already," he said in a low seductive tone.

Charlie blushed, wiggling out of Wonka's grip. "We should really watch where we're going Mr Wonka, otherwise we'll lose the-" he looked around, his face adopting a nervous expression. "Mr Wonka, we've lost the trail!"

A monster exploded from the bushes, rearing up at Charlie and Wonka. It was ugly and elongated; a vile green caterpillar with blood red markings. The size of a lorry, it had centipedal feet, each capped with a razor sharp claw. Dozens of eyes blinked together on its head, and paired with a circular mouth, akin to a gaping abyss and lined with hundreds of triangular teeth, it was terrifying.

"Whangdoodle," said Wonka, in horror.

"Shouldn't we run?" asked Charlie, staring petrified, as the whangdoodle eyed him up.

"No good," Wonka drew his machete. "Just because it looks like a millipede doesn't mean it is one. That thing's faster than a monkey on speed. Draw your weapon Charlie, we're gonna have to-fight-!"

On this last word, Wonka leapt forward, shocking Charlie with his surprising agility. Nimble as a cat, he swept forward to the whangdoodle, sweeping his blade in the air. It smashed against the monster's skull, carving a line through his forehead, from which thick green blood oozed out of. The whangdoodle reared up once more, screeching in pain, and dove after Wonka. Swiftly, he ducked behind a tree. Bark and branches flew, and Wonka yelled, "Charlie! Get it while its attention is on me!"

His hands shaking, Charlie clumsily grabbed his own machete from its sheaf, holding it awkwardly with both hands.

"Uh- okay!"

He ran forward, his legs feeling like jelly, very aware that he had never handled any sort of blade or sword in his life. He hit the monster on the head with the end of it. The whangdoodle's skin was harder than he expected, and his attack barely scratched the surface. The only success Charlie had was in attracting its attention.

It turned to him with the sound of whole trees snapping and stretching, the little colour in Charlie's face now draining away like ink.

"Run!" exclaimed Wonka.

Charlie zoomed off at a sprint, the whangdoodle on his heels. If it hadn't been for his small frame, it would have caught up with him in an instant. But because of it, he was able to whip about the trees and bushes, while the whangdoodle had to resort to crashing through them.

Heart thumping, his legs darting madly, he found a tree with branches stationed down low enough, and began to climb. His hands scrabbling at branches that weren't always there, and sometimes broke, he managed to get high enough just as the whangdoodle arrived, screeching horribly at him.

Wonka appeared behind, looking out of breath. The whangdoodle swivelled round and dived at him. Wonka threw himself backwards onto the ground, just out of reach, something in his backpack shattering. He sprung up again, hitting it successfully in the jaw.

"Charlie-" he said through breaths, still swinging at the monster, "-a whangdoodle's skull- is very soft- delicate bones. Attack there!"

Wonka lured the monster back towards the tree, directly under where Charlie was standing. The whangdoodle's head was stained with red, almost in the shape of an X. Immediately, Charlie realised what he was supposed to do.

'X marks the spot," he thought, fearfully, before he stepped back, and took a running jump off the branch, angling his machete down. The image of the whangdoodle rushed towards him, as he rushed towards it. He plunged the blade directly down, and into the beast's brain. It let out an almighty scream, almost loud enough to burst their eardrums, green blood spraying from its mouth. It wobbled and swayed, Charlie holding onto the machete handle for dear life as it crashed to the ground. At the last moment, he was thrown off, Wonka rushing forward to catch him in his arms.

Once his ears had stopped ringing, he whispered a small, "Thanks."

Wonka set him down, rubbing his forearms. "You're really gotta stop this falling business boy, it's starting to get painful."

"You ought to stop being so good at catching me then," said Charlie, smiling weakly. He felt mentally and physically drained from the fight.

"You did very well, you know," said Wonka. "I'm impressed. I didn't dream we'd encounter a whangdoodle; they don't usually live in this part of the forest."

"Guess we just got lucky then," said Charlie, as he drew his machete from the whangdoodle's head with a wince. It was covered with a nasty green slime which he wiped off a mossy tree. Apparently, however, the tree did not appreciate this, as it attempted to spit it back at him.

They backtracked until they reached the safety of the trail, and set off again. This time, in silence, giving full attention to where they were going.

"We should reach it soon," said Wonka, after some time. He consulted his pocket watch once more. "We better hurry up Charlie, we ain't got much more time left."

They increased their pace, and around them the trail became more and more worn, and in dire need to maintenance. Most of the markets looked bitten and chewed, and could definitely do with a slap of paint. They were beginning to get difficult to follow.

All of a sudden, the trail ended. Charlie and Wonka found themselves standing in the undergrowth, surrounded by twisting vines.

"The Old Chief said it was just beyond here…" said Wonka, cutting through the vines with his machete and stepping through the gap.

"Aha!" Charlie heard him exclaim from the other side. "Come on through Charlie, it's beautiful in here!"

Charlie clambered through the hole, having some difficulty when a vine attempted to grab hold of his foot. He struggled against it, and at last, pulled it through. He looked around at his surroundings, his eyes glittering.

"Wow…"

They had entered a crisp clearing, surrounded and encapsulated by the thick vines. A spring had broken out from the body of a hollow tree stump, and clear water trickled through in tiers, merging into a small stream. The water glimmered unearthly, reflecting the light on the twilight lamp-flowers above, which were no longer frightening.

Beside the spring was not one crystal heart, but three. They were the largest flowers Charlie had ever seen, covering the entire expanse of the forest floor. They had a large blue centre, with lily-like petals spraying out in luminescent shades of white and silver, almost transparent.

"Five minutes to go," said Wonka, as he unloaded his backpack. "We're just in time." He unzipped his bag, taking out two carefully wrapped jam jars from the top.

"I've been wondering about that," said Charlie. "What exactly is happening at midday?"

"Crystal hearts always release their spores on Christmas Day," explained Wonka, taking a seat on the tree stump. "And, according to the Oompa-Loompas, it's always exactly at midday. They're very rare, and too delicate to uproot, so the only other option was to collect the spores and plant one from scratch in the garden. I've been after getting one for years." He snatched up a handful of clear water, and raised it to his lips. "You want some Charlie? It's clean."

Charlie scooped up the water in his hands and drank it carefully. "Tastes clean, but… strange."

"I reckon it's the effect of the lamp-flowers," said Wonka. "I know they're just flowers, but they still seem very odd. I have a theory that they're what are causing the abnormal plants and animals down here. New energy from the sun doesn't usually connect with the old energy of the Earth; it makes sense it'd cause an unnatural reaction like this. I've never found anywhere else on the planet like this- it's just brimming with energy and possibility. You can feel it in the air."

Charlie raised a hand, and felt electricity crackle, jumping from thumb to index finger.

"Ah! It's starting!" exclaimed Wonka, jumping to his feet.

The petals of the giant flowers were moving, and from them, small white balls were rising upwards. First there were just a few, but then they increased in volume, and suddenly, the clearing was filled with upward rising snow, till they could barely see. They rose slowly, drifting lazily, shimmering in the light of the lamp-flowers.

"How beautiful…" murmured Charlie. "Like snow… snow on Christmas Day…"

They picked up the jam jars, and set to work catching as many spores as they could. When the jars were full, they screwed on the lids, Charlie admiring how they continued to float once trapped, like stardust.

Eventually, the spore shower ended, the last few drifting out of sight over the distant canopy. Wonka lifted his hand, and Charlie met it for a high five.

"Mission complete!" Wonka said cheerily, a large smile on his face.

Softly at first, becoming louder, a buzzing sound began.

"What's that?" asked Charlie, turning to try and discover the source of the noise. As it intensified, Wonka's brows knotted, until his face bloomed in realisation.

"Get down!" he yelled, dragging Charlie to the ground. As he did so, a hornswoggler broke through the twisting vines, its giant wings wining horribly as they beat the air, as rapid as a dragonfly.

Lying on top of Charlie, Wonka drew his machete. "Watch out for the stinger," he said, his breath hot on Charlie's face. A second later, and he was up on his feet, charging towards the giant insect, tail quivering at him; a threat.

As Wonka deflected the attack with the flat of his blade, Charlie eyed the stinger. If he could slice it off, they would be safe... The triumph from the previous battle was in his veins, and he felt confident. Wonka was still sparring with the monster, looking in control. Charlie's own blade in hand, he ran at it, sweeping the machete towards the hornswoggler's back end. Nimbly, it darted out his reach, the blade cutting through thin air and toppling him off balance. The hornswoggler turned from Wonka, and dived towards him, Charlie's eyes widening.

Suddenly, Wonka was at his side, shoving him out of the way.

**Kaaaaaa-chink!**

Metal flew as Wonka's machete was split clean in half, the hornswoggler in his face, blinding him with its ever-moving wings. Wonka's could feel himself falling, feel his world spinning, and in this blur he felt a fiery pain erupting his chest, his limbs washed with a cold fire, numb.

When Charlie realised that his mentor had been stung by the monster, his own fire filled him- one of unadulterated rage. Furious now, and reckless, he shot forward, concentrating all his strength into the machete. The hornswoggler never saw what hit him. Holding his blade above his head, Charlie brought it down upon the beast, splitting it into pieces.

In two halves, it dropped to the floor, a mass of limbs and oozing green blood. For a few seconds, it wiggled on the forest floor, before falling silent.

Breathless, his whole body shaking, he turned to Wonka. He was sprawled on the ground, weakly propping himself up with an elbow, his body racked with shivers from the cold poison coursing through his veins and arteries.

Charlie flew to him. "Ah, Mr Wonka! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

With a frown of concentration, Wonka shook his head. "-It's fine," he said, sounding tired, "The bottle- I have the antidote in my backpack. It's the glass vial."

Hurriedly, Charlie pulled Wonka's backpack towards him and unzipped it, rummaging through for the said antidote. He yelped and drew his hand back. Pieces of fine glass stuck in it, and wincing, Charlie pulled them out, sucking on his bloody fingers. Wasting no time, he dove in with his left hand, this time more carefully. With a mournful look on his features, he withdrew the top half of a smashed vial, contents long gone.

"Sir…?" he said anxiously. "Is this it?"

Wonka looked at it, and sighed. "Fudge. I thought I heard something break in that fight with the whangdoodle."

He lapsed into silence, gazing up lamp-flowers.

"Sir…?" said Charlie once more.

"Yes my boy?"

"What are we going to do?"

"There'll be another vial in the factory stock rooms, if we can-" he paused, and looked frustrated with himself. "No, there's not! I used the last antidote on that boy. What a waste!"

"That boy?"

"It doesn't matter. I don't know what to do, though the Oompa-Loompas may be able to do something… perhaps anyway. We ought ta head back to the village."

He tried to stand, clutching breathlessly onto his chest, but stumbled, sinking back down to his knees. "I'm gonna- I'm gonna need some help… Charlie. "

Immediately, Charlie was under his arm, helping him to his feet. Awkwardly, they stepped around the dead hornswoggler and back towards the trail, Wonka leaning heavily on his heir. It was slow going, as already the poison was affecting him, making him weak. Charlie just hoped they would be able to make it back to the village without Wonka passing out. It they met with any more monsters- well, they would be ruined. The shrieks and calls of the forest seemed louder now, almost urgent. With Wonka out of action, Charlie couldn't help but feel more frightened than ever. This unearthly place- with those ever-twinkling twilight flowers, the cries from the canopy, the heat—it stuck fear right into his core.


	20. Chapter 20

_Chapter XX- Secrets in the Forest_

Somehow, they made it back. In the Loompa village Wonka was laid out on several woven mats, the medicine man bustling about, giving instructions to his fellow tribesmen in vigorous Loompa gestures. Several men had been sent out to search for ingredients for an antidote to the hornswaggler poison, while one left to the Factory to ask for help.

The poison was slow acting, and not lethal until around three days. But, it was painful. The poison would course through the veins like fire; it drove men mad just as often as it killed them. Charlie just hoped there would be time enough to brew the antidote before it reached that stage.

While the Oompa-Loompas bustled around them, the hours passing, Charlie did not spend a moment away from Wonka's beside. He kept up a constant vigil beside him, pressing a damp cloth against his feverish brow, talking to him, keeping him distracted. Inwardly, he knew that this was his own fault. He'd tried to be heroic but had only ended up putting Wonka in danger. He should have stayed home, rather than pressuring Wonka into letting him come… he'd been such a burden…

However, he kept these thoughts to himself. He had decided that he wouldn't inflict his guilt trip on the man. If he did, Wonka was sure to try and convince him otherwise, and he needed his strength.

The Oompa-Loompas in the village did not often speak to Charlie and Wonka. There was a definite difference between those in the Factory and those who had stayed behind. The younger Loompas regarded the tall outsiders with fear, their elders with dislike. A few showed a complete disgust for Wonka, and would not remain in the same room as him. There was a distinct tension in the air- that they were unwelcome.

Charlie did not notice. Charlie didn't care. So long as they brewed an antidote for his Mr Wonka, he would suffer any treatment. Instead he sat by his bedside, and waited.

At that moment, Wonka's eyelids fluttered, and he wakened from his restless sleep.

"Charlie," he said, his mouth quirked into a smile despite the pain. Though his voice was softer than usual, it was still strong.

"How are you Mr Wonka?" he asked, leaning forward with a flannel.

"Oh, never better," he laughed just a little. "The Oompa-Loompas from the Factory should be back soon…" he murmured to himself.

Charlie leaned down closer. "The Loompas here don't seem to like us very much," he said. "Is it because all their friends moved to the Factory?"

Wonka looked a little sad. "Not everyone appreciated my offer," he said, voice catching. "These lil guys wanted to stay, and they didn't want the rest to leave either. I thought I was giving them a better chance in life, but to them, I decimated their community. Though," he pulled a face, "I'm unsure why they'd want to stay here."

He laughed, but it changed into a hacking cough. His face grew pale, his eyelids flickered, and he subsided once again into sleep.

Charlie said nothing; he didn't even sigh. Instead, dutifully, doggedly, he kept his watch.

Hours passed, but in the strange twilight of Loompa Land Charlie had no idea how to measure the passage of time. Wonka grew steadily sicker, his brow growing hotter. Charlie pressed the cloth to his head, but it did not stop the oncoming fever. Sweat formed on his temple and his whole body was damp. The blanket clung to him like a second skin. He grew restless, tossing and turning, sleep-talking.

"Tell Doris to get that paperwork done by Friday," he would ramble. Sometimes he would talk of his father ("Papa! Why can't I have any chocolate?") other times he would mention names Charlie didn't know, which he could only presume belonged to his past. He spoke of his mother, something Charlie had never heard before ("Mama! Let me protect you!"). He felt awkward, sure that he was hearing things Wonka wouldn't have wanted him to. Eventually, he began to say Charlie's name. He did not speak to him like the others, but instead simply said his name over and over. "Charlie. Charlie."

Charlie flushed.

Wonka grew hotter, and when the medicine man returned, he gestured to Charlie that he should remove Wonka's clothes, that he was too warm. Charlie did not blush now; he felt quite mortified. Wonka was never seen without three different layers, and he had only ever seen him without his gloves once. He even wore them to bed!

So it was with great hesitation that Charlie unbuttoned Wonka's shirt, finding to no surprise another vest underneath. He pulled it off, damp with sweat. His chest was as white as marble; asleep, he looked like a doll. His eyes did not linger here however, and he tugged off Wonka's socks and trousers, looking away. Lastly he came to the gloves (he didn't think his poor heart would take the strain of underpants). For some reason these he felt the most awkward about, as though he was trying to dig secrets about the man which he had no right to.

He took a deep breath and rolled the purple latex back over his fingers, the skin gleaming with water. He peeled back the second one, breathing relief.

Just about to let Wonka's hand drop, he paused. Contrasting his deathly pale skin he caught out of the corner of his eye something red.

He turned the hand over, palm facing up, whereupon the bottom dropped out of his stomach.

Stretched across his wrist were two angry gashes. He knew what they were; he had grown out of his naivety that much. One was much older, cut crudely in a horizontal line. Time had aged it, but had been deep and was still clear. The newest one could not have been more than a few years old. It was far more precise, a vertical slid carved by a man who knew exactly what he was doing.

Charlie let the hand drop to the man's side; he could not bear to look any longer. He could see the tell-tale line sneaking round the side of Wonka's other wrist, and tucked both of his hands under the blanket so that he could not see them.

His heart pounded in his chest. Why would his mentor have done such a thing? Charlie found himself feeling quite ill.

There was a commotion outside, and Charlie climbed to his feet. Peering out through the heavy linen hung in the doorframe he saw a group of Oompa-Loompa from the Factory approaching. He ducked under the small doorway and out onto the bridge, watching as the tribal Oompa-Loompa scurried down from ropes and ladders onto the forest floor to greet their fellows. Charlie watched carefully; their greeting was a stony one. Not of dislike, but Charlie could taste the underlying feeling of hurt and abandonment in the air. From the huts, mothers clutched their children with longing in their eyes; they wanted to be a complete tribe again, rather than just those few left behind.

Charlie was surprised to see the secretary Doris among their number. What was she here for?

After a brief display of hand gestures, the Oompa-Loompas from the Factory entered the village, swinging themselves up onto the bridges. They approached towards Charlie.

"Is he in here?" Doris asked swiftly.

"Y-yeah," Charlie stuttered, and the army of tiny people brushed past him. Cautiously, he followed them into the hut where doctors from the Puppet Infirmary were leant over Wonka with their briefcases. Snapping them open they took out their tools, one taking his blood pressure and another retrieving a stethoscope. The difference between their world and their tribal cousins with their medicine man was instantly tangible.

While all the Oompa-Loompas were busy, Doris alone remained immobile, watching Wonka in worry.

Finished with their measurements, one of the Loompa-doctors stood, whispering something in Doris's ear. She nodded.

"Can- can you fix him?" Charlie blurted out, unable to keep silent any longer. They all looked towards him.

"No," sighed Doris. "You'll have to wait for the guys here to retrieve ingredients for the antidote. Modern medicine can't cure this; we knew that before we came."

"Then-" Charlie felt puzzled, "-then why are you here?"

One of the doctors, a Loompa with a large head and glasses, looked at him and said, "Even if we can't do anything, how can we not try our best to heal Chief Wonka? Even if we think there's only a tiny chance, we have to take it."

"I see…" said Charlie, the devotion they felt for his friend permeating through him. "Yes, I think you're right."

Charlie saw that Doris was watching him.

"Come walk with me Charlie," she said.

Confused, Charlie followed Doris out onto the bridge and through the village. She stopped there, looking out over the forest. Charlie stopped by her. To his surprise, she said nothing. The look on her face was melancholy, and Charlie decided that she must be remembering.

"Why did you come here Doris?" he asked, trying to fill the stifling silence. "I didn't know you were a doctor."

"I'm not," she sighed. "But as Willy's mother, I had to come."

He turned towards her sharply, looking her over. It didn't seem possible.

Suddenly, Doris burst out into rapturous laughter, her hands on her sides.

"I didn't mean that literally!" she said, but then she grew serious. "Perhaps now is not the best time to laugh," she mused sadly. "I just mean I feel like he's my son. He's always messing up like this and I have to be the one to take care of him."

"But-" Charlie begun, "it was really my fault- to begin with! I was… showing off."

She watched him curiously. "Well then you're both as bad as one another, and completely suited together. Part of the reason he let you come was that so he could show off himself, you know."

Charlie gaped at her.

If she was his height, Doris might have patted Charlie's shoulder. As it was, she patted his calf.

"Incidentally, I do wonder why Willy hasn't done anything about that low self-esteem you have. Stop blaming yourself all the time; it won't help anyone and it's tiresome to listen to."

Charlie opened his mouth to argue. But he caught the look in Doris's eye and cleverly fell silent.

"Don't you worry about Willy," Doris said more gently. "He's strong. Once the others finish with that antidote he'll bounce back in no time. The man's just too bloody noble for his own good."

Charlie couldn't help but remember the other children on the tour. Doris quickly understood.

"When it's people he wants to save," she added swiftly. "But he rescued me too, when I first met him. I was being chased by a whangdoodle."

"Really? He rescued you?"

"It was during one of his first trips to Loompa Land. I was jut a young woman then, and terrified. I was out collecting snozzberries, only I wandered off the trail and got lost. It leapt out from behind me; I thought I was done for. But suddenly Willy appeared out of nowhere and begun fighting it off. I don't know who I was more scared of; the whangdoodle or this huge pale man. I'd never seen anything like him before. He managed to kill it, but it took a great chunk out of him too. I was half inclined to leave him there. But I managed to calm down and think clearly; I went for help and got some of the others to help me drag him back.

"He was in bed for a week, you know. I looked after him, and I suppose during that time I grew fond of him. Which was why when he was better and he asked me to work in his factory, I went with him. I managed to convince a few of the others too. I've been looking after him, ever since." She smiled at him gently. "He needs a lot of looking after, you know. He was a right misery guts at first, and the chocolate he made was awful. A bit of company and bottles of our moon-flower stilled cider cheered him right up though. He'd been alone for a long time before, you see."

"Oh," said Charlie, who'd listened to this story, entranced. "That was because he kicked all his workers out, wasn't it? They betrayed him…"

"It hit him hard," Doris said softly. "He loved his workers; some of them were like his family. They were the people he created his dreams with, who made them into realities. To find out that they'd betrayed him like that… well, it must have been terrible."

Charlie could help but think of Wonka's scars, an awful sight ingrained into the back of his head. In the depths of one of his darkest nights, had this been when he had attempted such a terrible thing?

And, did this tiny woman- who thought of herself as Wonka's mother- know about it?

"When-" he begun hesitantly, "when I had to take of Mr Wonka's gloves earlier… I saw-" he paused, but the look in Doris's eye told him, gratefully, that she already knew.

"So you saw those?" she said. "Willy works heard to keep those covered up. He'll be upset if he finds out that you know."

"But… why would he do such a thing?" To Charlie, Wonka was dreams and sunshine. He was a being passed by human mediocrity. To imagine him contemplating suicide was nonsensical.

"It's… not my place to say," said Doris. "But Willy's been through some tough time. He's faced both betrayal and abandonment. Even I don't know the half of it."

"But Mr Wonka doesn't ever mention his past to me. He's important to me, but… when it comes down to it, I know barely anything about him. I've tried to ask… but he always tells me to stop mumbling, or changes the subject."

Doris smiled. "That's just his nature. But you'll get it out of him in the end. He's starting to lean to trust people again, and you're leading the way Charlie."

He stared at her.

"Me?" he asked, incredulous.

"Of course," she said. "It's thanks to you that he's finally beginning to open up. He's had a lot of experiences that have made him dislike humans."

"But he's a human himself!" laughed Charlie.

"Partly," said Doris, smiling secretively.

"You mean… he's not human?" Charlie stared at Doris in shock.

"How do you think he looks so young all the time? And so pale? You've met his father- he's human enough. But his mother… well, I better not tell you. I just hope that one day he'll trust you enough to tell you all of this himself."

Charlie watched the eerie light shimmering on the leaves of the canopy, and said, "I hope so too."


	21. Chapter 21

_Chapter XXI- Deep Magic_

When the night cast its glittering net over Loompa Land and the glow of the lamp-flowers smouldered into flickering embers, the magic deepened.

Oompa-Loompas emerged from their huts wearing necklaces of bone-white beads and evil smelling incense to drive bad spirits away. They kneeled on woven mats dyed with the blood of the snozzwhanger and around Willy Wonka, wove fortifying spells. They sung undulating songs of strength and power, long forgotten by their brothers who had moved to the surface world. And all day and night they stirred and murmured over a bubbling pot of liquid gold. Now it was heaved outside, to absorb the darkness of midnight.

"How long will it take?" asked Charlie.

The tribesman brewing the antidote signed the gesture that meant, three.

"Minutes? Hours?"

The tribesman shook his head. Days, he signed.

"Will he… will he last that long?" Charlie managed out.

The tribesman signed what amounted to, _If he is strong_.

For three days, Charlie kept vigilance.

On the first day, Wonka continued to murmur. Names. Fragments. He sat up abruptly, drenched with sweat, shirt sticking to him like a second skin, and declared to everyone in the hut, "You're all lolly-gagging nincompoops!"

Afterwards, he slumped down again, completely silent. Uneasily silent, until the medicine man whispered incantations over him and said, "He has withdrawn into his spirit to prepare himself for the pain."

On the second day, Wonka didn't speak, didn't even move. Though his eyes rolled beneath their lids and his fingers clenched, unclenched against his palms.

The medicine man said, "He has withdrawn into the land of dreams, to prepare himself for his birth."

"Birth?" said Charlie. "What birth?"

"To be born again," the medicine man said, "first you have to die."

The word was almost a squeak; "_Die_?"

"We die and are reborn many times in our lives. I have died a dozen times and been reborn a dozen more. Each time you lose a little of yourself, and gain much more."

Charlie didn't understand. He hadn't slept for two days and did not intend to, but could not help himself. His eyes began to drift, his thoughts came loose from their moorings and wandered, and the sandman cast over the boy his scented shroud of dreams.

Charlie Bucket dreamt he was at the circus. Inside the sideshow tent, full of squawking parakeets and parrots, the pungent smell of too much life cramped into too little space, and the tinkling tune of calliope. Incinerating spotlights were set on the stage, which was empty; barring a top hat perched on a stool. In the audience were rows and rows of chairs, all vacant except for his own, and, a long way away, another boy. He was sat on the edge of his seat, beside himself with excitement as though he were watching the greatest show on earth. He had the largest, most outrageous braces Charlie had seen in his life.

The boy said, "This is the best part. Not the vanishing act, but the reappearing. Anyone can make themselves vanish. Even I can. It's easy. It's not even magic. Just a trick. It's the reappearing that's difficult."

Charlie wondered if the boy were talking to him, but he didn't even glance his way. Instead he leant further forward in his seat, waiting eagerly. "Any moment now…" he said.

On the stage, the magician's hat sat on the stool. Everything was still.

"Any moment…"

The boy's patience was astounding. Minutes, hours, days passed. Seasons changed, and the birds fell from their perches and died. Still the boy waited, in such a state of nervous excitement that Charlie began to feel a little embarrassed for him.

After many years, when the dust coated the stage like snow, the boy slumped back. He sighed the saddest little sigh you ever could have heard.

"It's embarrassing, isn't it?" he said. "When the trick goes wrong. When the magician slips and you realise it's not magic. It's just a trick."

To Charlie's surprise, the boy began to cry. He cried into his fists, so sadly, so pitifully, that Charlie stood up and said, "Hey, don't worry. You said it yourself; it's just a trick."

But by that time the boy, too, had vanished.

And when Charlie awoke, his back and neck stiff from sleeping on the hut floor, it was the third day.

On the third day, Wonka broke his silence. But instead of fragments, he began to tell stories. He told them in a strange voice, clearer somehow, somehow younger, without the peculiar tics of his accent. Gone was the _gunna_'s. _Woz_'s were gone by the wayside. It was his truer voice.

He was lying silently, surrounded in a circle by Charlie, Doris, and many of the Oompa-Loompas, when suddenly he said, as though he'd been speaking for a long time but had only just began talking; "—That when I was very little, I had a goldfish called Peppermint. When I tried to feed it sweets, it died. I was distraught for weeks."

Everyone was quiet for a long time. Someone made a noise that was half way between a laugh and a cough. And then the medicine man said, "These words hold deep power."

Wonka was silent for a long time, and then he said, "My father was a magician. When my mother left, he burned all his spell books, because he didn't believe in magic anymore, and became a dentist."

After a long while; "Teeth can't hurt anybody. Not in the way that matters. They can't make you lose faith in yourself. There is nothing magic about teeth."

A few seconds later; "My world was so small. To me, the universe was held in the confines of a single boiled sweet."

The caww caww of the kuka birds. And, after everyone had stopped paying attention; "I needed to find an heir."

Immediately after; "—She taught me that the universe exists not just around us, but inside. My mother held a deep and ancient power. She could look at things and see them, exactly as they were. One day we went walking. She stopped in the garden, and she said, The universe exists inside this tree trunk. We went a little further, into the street, and she said, The universe exists inside this lamp post. We went further still, further than we usually went and into town. We stopped outside a candy shop and she said, The universe exists inside a single boiled sweet."

He said; "Chewing gum I hate the most."

He said; "But then I remembered the sour gum balls weren't finished. I dropped everything and rushed to the inventing room. It was a miracle I regained consciousness. Later, I made myself forget."

He said; "I had forgotten what she had told me. I hadn't meant to. But it was too painful to look back and I erased it, without realising I was erasing important things too."

He said; "I hadn't thought about my childhood for years."

Then; "For those years, the moon had completely disappeared from the sky. I asked my mother why it had gone. She said, It was lonely. I asked, did it not have the stars to talk to? She said, The stars and moon might look close, but it's an illusion. She said, Willy, remember this. The world is full of illusions."

That night, Charlie dreamt of the boy with braces again. This time, they were standing together under a moonless sky, outside a massive glass castle. It had towers as high as the sky and a huge portcullis, glass flags frozen in mid-wave.

Charlie said, "What is this?"

The boy said, "This is the Castle of Illusions."

"Are you going inside?" asked Charlie.

"Yes," said the boy. "The universe exists inside. But…" he faltered, "I've been looking for days, and I can't find the front door."

"You want me to help you look?" said Charlie.

"Would you?" said the boy.

The two of them searched together. They saw many doors, which became walls, portcullises that closed on them, and windows that shut. The Castle of Illusions kept changing. The towers became great chimneys. After a while, Charlie noticed that the castle had changed into the factory.

In desperation, the boy banged on the factory walls. "Let me in!" he said. "You never let me in. You're so _selfish_!" He fell down to the dirt and put his arms around his knees. He sniffed, and fought away tears. "Nobody likes a cry baby," he said, as though they were words he had been told many times. When he'd regained his composure he stood up and dusted himself off. "Thank you for helping me look," he said to Charlie. "Nobody has ever helped me before. But it's no good; I've been looking for a way in for years…" He asked, "What's your name, by the way?"

"Charlie Bucket. What's yours?"

"Willy." Very shyly, "Would you like to be friends?"

"Sure," said Charlie. Willy beamed.

"You said the universe was in there," Charlie said, looking back up at the castle. "What does it look like?"

Willy smiled enigmatically. For some reason, it looked familiar. "A boiled sweet, of course," he said.

When Charlie woke, he realised Wonka was speaking.

"—What my father didn't realise was that I had stolen his deck of cards. I performed tricks for money on the streets and made just enough to get by. When the authorities chased me, I vanished. My braces frightened people so most of the time, I stayed invisible, and made friends with all the invisible, unseen creatures in London. London is a city with many layers, most of them unseen. But I was restless, and later, a travelling circus came to town and I ran off to join it. I became a lion tamer. But the handlers were all cruel men, so I became friends with the lions. When I was sleeping, one of the lions unlocked his cage with a toothpick and padded over to me in the dead of the night. He had huge awful teeth, and he used them to carefully, gently, bite off my braces. I became an aerialist and travelled the world. I learned how to fly. I joined a motorcycle gang. I gambled my way to the top and became a millionaire and lost it all in a single game of blackjack. To repay my debts, I became a world-famous boxer. I beat every single opponent but the night before the big fight where I was due to box a kangaroo, I was press-ganged into the navy.

"I was taken to the other side of the world, but the moment I was left alone I became an albatross and flew away. As I flew back to England, I saw a dozen wars and hundreds of deaths. I saw people falling in love, marriages and burials, the spring of youth and the nature of man. I stayed as an albatross so long I forgot how to be human. A little girl caught me and put me in a cage but I learned to forgive her when I saw that her parents kept her in her own cage, only a little larger. When I remembered how to forgive I remembered how to be human. I broke the cage and her mother screamed and attacked me with a frying pan; of course I had forgotten that people aren't born with clothes! Afterwards I went to an old candy maker and asked him to apprentice me. He asked me why he should, and I told him, Because the universe exists in a single boiled sweet. He smiled at me with a twinkle in his eye that told me he was a wizard, and led me inside. He showed me all his inventions; sweets that could sing and chocolate that could whistle. He put his arm around me and said, Son, the world has changed a lot since the universe could exist in just a boring old boiled sweet."

Abruptly, Wonka stopped. Everyone stared in amazement. But Doris made a disbelieving noise and announced, "What a loud of mumbo-jumbo! I know for a fact he worked as a shoe-maker during that time."

Still, a thought was beginning to take root in Charlie; that even if facts were facts, it didn't necessarily mean they were true.

Finally, the antidote was done. The molten gold had turned blue; black; and then silver. It splashed around in the cauldron though no one touched it, diving into the air and back into the pot like jumping dolphins. An Oompa-Loompa hurried into the hut and signed, It's ready!

From the huge cauldron, a single bottle was filled and corked. As Doris and Charlie sat anxiously by his side, the medicine man pinched Wonka's nose and tipped it into his mouth. They waited. Doris was particularly restless. She kept saying things like, "Why isn't it working yet?" and "Why isn't it doing anything?" Her negativity began to infect the whole room. Charlie clasped Wonka's hand tightly, so tightly it hurt. Despite the humidity, Wonka felt unexpectedly chilly. Finally, Doris stood in a rush and exclaimed, "I knew it wasn't going to work! I knew it! We were too late. This was a stupid idea from the beginning!" She ran from the room. Charlie leant over Wonka so nobody would see the tears prickling at his eyes. It occurred to him that what Doris had said might be right. Suddenly, the pull that was keeping him in the room was gone. For the last three days, he had barely moved. He hadn't been able to leave Wonka for more than a moment. But now, there was nothing keeping him there. Doris was right; Wonka was dying, he wasn't coming back. And he couldn't bear to sit there any longer. Now he felt a pull tugging him out of the room, to somewhere else, anywhere else. There wasn't anything for him there any longer. He ran from the hut.

On the sisal bridges, Doris was no where to be seen. The deafening heat of Loompa-Land pressed down upon him, forced him down. The whole weight of the world pressed on him, and he curled into the tightest, smallest ball he could. He wished he could disappear.

He wasn't in the state of mind to notice anything, so he didn't- could not- hear the clink of bone-beads and the crackle of the medicine man's charms like burning tinder. He said, "I can't see you very well, but I know you're there. May I sit with you?"

Charlie felt like his throat had been plugged. He didn't trust himself to speak, but he looked up and nodded. The medicine man sat down next to him, his tiny legs dangling off the side. He lit up a cocoa pipe and smoked it. They sat like that for a long time. Charlie wasn't ready to speak yet, and the medicine man understood this.

It wasn't until much later that Charlie asked, his head still buried in his knees, "Where did you learn to speak English?"

The medicine man exhaled a mouthful of thick, chocolaty brown smoke. "I lived at the factory once, a long time ago."

More silence. More smoke. His words still muffled between his knees; "You came back?"

"Yes," he said. "I came back."

"Why?"

"I began to forget who I was."

Charlie looked up. His eyes were red around the rims.

"I feel you are confused. Let me try and explain…" the medicine man said. "When the magician arrived here, he looked on our race with pity. He looked at all the bad things here in the Underland and not the good."

Grief made Charlie more honest than he would ordinarily be. He said, "There's something good?"

The medicine man laughed. A powerful booming laugh, which startled the boy after so much silence, and coming from such a small, wizened old man.

"I know you're sceptical," he said. "The upper world is full of such scepticisms. Nobody believes in anything unless they see it with their eyes. They don't realise that eyes can lie just as well as any of the other senses. That is why magic, true magic, is dying there. In your world, magic is no more than a _trick_. Those of us who moved there began to learn this way. As did I. The woman, Doris, is one of the worst. She has thrown away everything she once knew, even her name. She believes only in the power of fact."

"But," said Charlie, "everyday animals try to eat you."

"There are many things far worse than death," the medicine man said. Before adding, "I see you do not understand. It's alright." He grinned a toothless smile. "These are just the ramblings of an old man. Put it from your mind."

"I don't understand though," Charlie said. "Mr Wonka did this to your village, yet you still help him." This was a bad idea—as soon as he mentioned Mr Wonka, his eyes filled with tears again. He sunk back into himself. The medicine man did not notice.

He said, "The magician's intention was to help us. An ill-founded intention, based on pity. But not an evil intention. We who live close to the bowels of the earth can look into the spirits of all living things, and his spirit is not an evil spirit. It is damaged, yes, and malaised, yes, but not evil."

Charlie wasn't particularly listening. He said, "I think I keep dreaming about him, when he was my age. What does it mean?"

The medicine man stopped puffing. He looked at Charlie, for the first time seemed to truly look at him. And from the frown on his face, it seemed as though what he saw troubled him.

He said, "Have a puff of this."

Charlie said, "I don't want to."

"Have a puff," he said more sternly. "It'll make you feel better."

Reluctantly Charlie took the pipe and inhaled.

The medicine man said, "What exactly are you to him?"

Charlie broke into a coughing fit. The medicine man banged him on the back.

"So I see," he said.

"I-m—studying- to-to be a, a—" between coughs, choking on his own words. The medicine man banged his back harder. "a- candymaker, with him!" Finally, the coughing subsided, but he was still rather breathless; "He's my mentor. And— and my friend too."

"And your lover as well?" the medicine man said shrewdly.

It's unable to say to this day whether the hacking coughing fit that followed was a result of the cocoa pipe, this question, or both.

But the medicine man was quite serene. When Charlie had stopped coughing, he said, "Your paths have been woven together in inescapable fate since the day you were born. The manner of the path you forge together, however, is up to you." Then he said, "I see it now. He is waiting for you in the land of dreams. There is some inner confrontation inside him—that's why he has been entering your dreams. He needs your help."

Immediately, Charlie's whole demeanour changed. He sat up straight, the light in his eyes returned. He said; "You mean there's still a chance he can come back?"

"In escaping the pain, he strayed too far into himself. Unless you have complete confidence in who you are and the nature of your own being, you will be captured by questions that you cannot answer. Encircled by your own circular thoughts. Trapped by your own irregular logic. He is cured and there is nothing physically wrong with him. But unless someone calls him back to his body, he will die."

Charlie jumped up. "I'll do it. I'll do anything to help Mr Wonka. But how do I enter the land of dreams?"

The medicine man chuckled. "How do you think?" he said, and Charlie began to feel very sleepy.

He sunk back down, and as he was drifting said, "It's funny… When I first saw the Oompa-Loompas I thought you all looked the same."

The medicine man replied, "You know, I used to feel the same way about tall people too." And Charlie felt the old man's chuckle on the wind as he drifted into the land of dreams.

_To be continued._

_In the next chapter;' __**The Land of Dreams' **__Charlie enters Wonka's consciousness, the amazing fab-tabulous theme park, Wonkaland! We meet Wonka's mother and delve deeper into his shady past. Perhaps we'll learn more than we want to. After all, __**who trusts a man that never shows his hands?**_


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary**; From here on out, things are going to be a little bit **strange**. What else can you expect, when you venture into one Willy Wonka's soul? But _dear reader_, watch where you **step**. Because if you leap before you look, you, like Charlie, could become irrevocably lost! Nothing in the land of dreams is random, but don't look to me to explain! Interpret however, whenever, whichever, _whatever_ you may wish! Mr Wonka himself values creativity and we wouldn't want to let him down now, would we? Baby, let's get lyrical; it's time for this fic to go metaphysical!

_Chapter XXII- The Land of Dreams_

Calliope, streaming through the cracks in Charlie's consciousness. Lights, blinding. The creak of the Ferris wheel. The big top. The empty sideshow tent. A glass castle full of mirrors. Colours blurring, mashing, refracting; putrescent yellows, sickly greens. Screams, cheers and cat calls in the empty fairground. The only trace of visitors, the abandoned chocolate wrappers and popcorn bags, stirring in the breeze. And on a plinth stood a gold statue of Wonka, frozen in a perfect smile.

- Willy Wonka -

Candy maker

0000 - 0000 AD

To tell the truth, Charlie felt a little embarrassed for the statue. It was so majestic, so proud. Standing on its own, surrounded by empty wrappers and drink cans, it was also completely ridiculous.

The fairground was dreadfully lonely. So Charlie was more than relieved when he heard the drum roll; "Tickets! Get your tickets here!"

He hurried up to the ticket booth, where, to his surprise, he found Doris. She was too small for her seat, and behind the perspex screen all he could see were her eyes and the top of her head. She showed no sign of recognising him.

"Miss Doris!" he exclaimed. "It's me, Charlie."

She peered at him from above her spectacles. "Do you want a ticket or not, kid?"

Flustered, Charlie said, "Ye-yes. One please."

"Hold on," Doris said boredly. "Let me check the list." She pulled out a heavy guestbook and scanned it. "What did you say your name was kid? Chunkie?" She scanned him critically. "It don't suit you. What happened? You got wrung from a mangle?"

"It's _Charlie_," the boy himself said, rather affronted. "Charlie Bucket." He had never known Doris to act so rudely.

She scanned the book again, flipping over a few pages, and said, "Sorry Bucket. You ain't on the list. I'm afraid this is a very exclusive establishment."

"No way!" said Charlie, leaning over the ticket booth. Just as Doris had said, his name wasn't in the guestbook. But, nor was anybody else's.

"Hey!" he said. "That guestbook is empty."

"Like I said—it's a _very_ exclusive establishment."

"What's the point of opening a fair if nobody is allowed in?" he said.

"You're gonna have to stop mumbling kid, cuz I can't understand a word you're saying."

Charlie stared. Was this really Doris?

But then Doris found the memo tucked in between the pages. Pushing her spectacles further up her nose, she exclaimed, "Well, well well! It's your lucky day. I've got a note from the boss; you've been made a VIP visitor. Our first ever, actually." She handed Charlie a badge to pin to his jumper through the slot in the glass. It read;

_Charlie Bucket_

_VIP_

"What does VIP stand for?" Charlie asked.

"Very itchy pimples," she said, and she shoo'd Charlie off. "Go. Can't you see I'm busy?"

Doris continued to sit and do nothing.

But Charlie wasn't going to be put off so easily. "Please, do you know where I can find Mr Wonka?"

She pointed wordlessly to a striped tent, still busily intent on doing nothing. Charlie hesitated, and then left her to it. Huh! he thought, as he went towards the tent. Maybe she's just stressed from too much paperwork.

Inside the tent it was not a tent, but a building made of brick and plaster. A cinema, with plush cinema seats, violet drapes and a projector. Puzzled, Charlie hesitantly took a seat near the front. Immediately, a voice that came from all corners of the tent and was familiarly musical and lilting announced, **Now, put on your 3D HD viewing glasses, located in the front receptacle. For your viewing pleasure, this picture is presented in triple layered audio surround sound. **This was followed by a comic honking sound, an explosion that threw him back on his seat, and the squeak of a rubber duck.

Wow, thought Charlie, his ears ringing. That triple layered surround sound sure is something else!

He did as he was told and picked out his 3D out of the receptacle and put them on. They were decorated with sparkles and spangles.

Immediately, the feature started. The projector rolled, Catherine wheels whirled and roman candles flared either side of the huge screen in fountains of liquid sparks.

"WELCOMING YOU TO WONKALAND," the voiceover announced, "PLEASE GIVE A BIG HAND FOR ONE, THE ONLY, MR WILLLLLLLLY WOOOOOONKA!"

On the edge of his seat, Charlie clapped vigorously as Willy Wonka walked on screen. He walked on screen and then off-screen into the audience, dressed in a dazzling silver top and tails.

"My friends," he announced, "compadres, madams, messieurs, senors and senoritas, Oompa-Loompas and all the rest, I heartily welcome you to Wonkaland, my first theme park! Try the ferris wheel and the bumper cars—go wild on the waterlog! Try the candyfloss, please do, please do. It doesn't shrink in your mouth- it gets bigger! I know it's shocking, but don't choke over it. Seriously, be careful you don't choke. That's one of the side effects I haven't worked out yet—"

A pointed cough from behind the screen.

"Oh, right, right. Where woz I? Oh. When you get sick of the fair head over to—I don't mean sick literally by the way, but if you do sick bags are on standby—I mean, mosey on over to the circus! We've got the lot; elephants, hippos, killer whales—"

Cleverly disguised behind his sleeve, Wonka managed to drop his cue cards all over the floor. "Um. Uh. Oops," he said. "Oh fudge."

But at that point, a rogue firework went off, setting fire to the projector screen. In a few seconds flat, as Catherine wheels collided and span out of control, it was incinerated.

The Wonka projection turned round, conversing with invisible personage. "How do I turn this thing off?"

A moment later, he disappeared with a pop.

The security guard behind Charlie, who also happened to be Doris, said, "Pff. Typical. What a show-off."

Charlie turned round in his seat. "I thought it was brilliant," he said defiantly.

Doris shot him an irritated look. "You would," she grumbled.

When he looked back, she was gone. The voice on the surround sound announced, **Please place your 3D HD glasses back into the appropriate receptacle and proceed into the next room. **

Charlie put the glasses back. He thought, When I wake up, I'll have to talk to Mr Wonka about 3D chocolate TV. We are in the modern era now, after all. (The Land of Dreams had begun to work its magic on Charlie; he had forgotten, for the moment, that in the real world his mentor lay dying. )

The next room was an old fashioned front room (he had already forgotten it was supposed to be a tent) where a record player stood with the disk turning, the needle up. Charlie waited, not sure what he was supposed to be waiting for. When nothing happened, experimentally, he put the needle down. The result was deafening;

"—NO SON OF MINE WILL BE A CHOCOLATIER NO SON OF MINE WILL BE A CHOCOLATIER NO SON OF MINE WILL BE A CHOCOLATIER NO SON OF MINE WILL BE A CHOCOLATIER NO SON OF MINE WILL BE A CHOCOLATIER NO SON OF MINE—"

Charlie quickly put the needle up. "Ouch," he said. It took a moment before his hearing returned. He would have to speak with Mr Wonka bout the volume control on this one.

The next room Charlie came to was not a room, but a corridor. More specifically, the corridor inside Wonka's quarters with its dozen, different doors (Who knows? Maybe it really was Wonka's quarters?) As he strode down, the wall attempted to get in his way, but he was used to it now. He said, "Not now, not now. I'm on my way to see Mr Wonka," and the wall slunk back, grumbling.

It was then he noticed that on the familiar doors, there were new name plates. The steel, iron-barred door he stood before sported the legend,

I am eatable

Fit into your pocket

And can contain

(in some instances)

The universe.

_What am I_?

Charlie opened the door. Inside was a planetarium, painted stars revolving slowly. All the constellations were joined with lines like dot-to-dot. In the middle of the room, sat on a stool, was Wonka.

"Mr Wonka!" Charlie cried, bounding forward. "I've been looking you for ages. I've got some great ideas for Wonkaland…What are you doing in here?"

Wonka continued watching the ceiling. He said, "I'm looking at the stars."

"But it's a beautiful night tonight," Charlie said. "We could go up on the roof and watch them. You don't need to be in a planetarium."

Wonka said, "I didn't want to look at the real ones."

It was at this point that Charlie noticed he was talking to a hat stand.

Next, he decided to try the door to Wonka's room. The legend it bore was,

Some big

Some small

But don't look in the secret diary sized one.

Charlie was slightly disappointed that behind Wonka's bedroom door, was in fact, Wonka's bedroom.

Same bed, same coffee table, same wardrobe, same dresser. With a giant pointing finger tacked up on the wall next to it.

Since Wonka had drawn such attention to it, Charlie knew that his mentor would be disappointed in him if he didn't take this chance to root through his belongings. In the bugaloo-horn sized draw he found a bugaloo horn. In the alligator sized draw he found an alligator (SNAP! It snapped, and Charlie shut the draw with a snap!) Lastly, in the secret diary sized draw he found a secret diary. It was pink and read on the front cover; WILLY WONKA'S SECRET DIARY. KEEP OUT.

Since this was a dream, Charlie opened it anyway.

The pages were all empty, except for one which read, 'Gotcha again!'

"Gosh," said Charlie to himself. "He's good."

The next room had the legend,

Museum

And it was a museum, because Charlie knew that Wonka wasn't incredibly fond of dusty old museums, and really, what else was there to be said of them? But as museums go, this one was fairly avant-garde, more interesting than the Tate Modern as far as Charlie was concerned and sported a selection of bizarre items such as a deck of beaten up playing cards; a broken bird cage; a tribal knife; a motorcycle helmet; some grey rocks (labelled, 'souvenirs from Mum'); a mangy half-eaten sweet and a lion tooth.

"Step back young man, step back," Doris the security guard said. "I'm on direct instructions to blow away anyone who touches the artefacts, so you'd best step back." In her hands was a machine gun.

"Okay, okay," said Charlie, quickly taking a step back. Doris eyed him warily. He said, "It's kind of dusty in here, you know." Even as he watched spiders spun web after web, till he could barely move.

"Not my problem," said Doris the security guard. "You want to talk to housekeeping."

"I'm on my break," Doris the housekeeper said.

Charlie was beginning to wonder if he'd ever find Mr Wonka in this place, when he noticed, wandering again in the corridor, a wonky door which said simply,

KEEP OUT

Is there any better way to attract a young boy's attention than a keep out sign? Charlie dithered and dathered as to whether he should go in, but then he heard something that decided it for him. A voice, seeping through the cracks of the door like a mist.

"Help me… Charlie, help me…"

Charlie opened the door. It opened out into the mirror maze inside the Castle of Illusions. When he shut the door behind him, it disappeared, and Charlie knew he would never find it again. He was surrounded by countless Charlie's.

"Hello?" he called. "Who's there?"

"Help me… help me…"

A voice so faint he could barely hear it, like a voice trapped in a seashell.

"Hello?" Charlie said. He put his hands out in front of him and walked forward. Once, before he moved to the factory, his parents wrestled up enough money so that he could go on one ride at the travelling fair at Piccadilly. He'd chosen to go inside the mirror maze and had spent half an hour bumping off the walls, while his parents stood outside in the cold, in hysterics with laughter.

The trick was, to keep your hands out so you didn't knock yourself out. It had been a painful lesson to learn.

"Charlie… it's me…"

It was the voice of the boy with braces. Willy's voice.

"Where are you?" said Charlie.

"Here," whispered Willy.

"Where's here?" said Charlie.

"Not that way. This way."

"This way?"

"No. That way."

"Left?"

"Right."

"Turn right?"

"No—I meant you were going the right way."

Charlie's behind Charlie's behind Charlie's.

How lonesome it must be to be trapped here, facing everyday only yourself and your own flaws.

He said, "Don't worry. I'm coming!"

When he turned right, other Charlie's turned left. When he turned left, other Charlie's turned right. It was very disorientating. Or to put another way;_ there was no way of knowing where he was going!_ Just when he saw half of Willy in a mirror, he would head towards it, and lose him completely. Or worse; he would hurry forward at full kilter, and smack face-first into the glass in a crippling _WHACK! _that was worthy of Wonka.

Willy said, "I feel awful. What if you end up trapped here with me?"

Charlie said, "Then we'll be trapped here together."

Finally, Charlie caught full sight of Willy. He was sat boxed in by a cube of mirrors, folded up into himself with his hands twisted in his lap.

"I can see you!" said Charlie. "Can you see me?"

Willy looked around nervously, biting his lip. In his braces, he looked simply bizarre. "No," he said.

"Just wait right there," Charlie said.

"I can't move anyway," Willy said. The mirrors were closely crowded around him he couldn't even stretch out.

Right; left; left; left; right! Just when Charlie thought he was getting close, he'd lose him completely! Like a rubix cube with three sides done, one wrong move and, BAM! Until he came into view again, so close he could touch him, hurrying forward, and—

SMASH!

Charlie hit the glass so hard it shattered. Bright, white lights went off in his head. Then Willy whispered, "Charlie? Charlie, you're bleeding. Charlie, are you alright?"

Though he'd hit just one pane, the entire complex of mirrors had smashed into smithereens. It lay on the floor in piles of sharp, shards of painful glass.

"I'm fine," Charlie said finally, though it was through his teeth. He touched his head, and when he pulled his fingertips away they were spotted with blots of blossoming blood.

"Thank God!" sighed Willy. And then he said, "Hey, maybe we should have just smashed the glass to begin with. A crow bar would have been a lot less painful than your head."

Except, Willy's voice was coming from the inside of a conch shell.

Charlie took a step forward. "Willy?" he asked.

"Yeah," said the voice from inside the shell. It was a little embarrassed. "I'm in here."

The conch lay on a plinth in the middle of the room. Charlie picked it up, peered into it, said, experimentally, "Uh, hello?"

When he put the conch to his ear, the voice that came back was louder, as though Willy was standing right next to him. "Hey there. Thanks for finding me. Do you think we could go outside? It's just that I've been inside this room for years and the décor's getting kind of drab."

"You couldn't find the way out yourself?"

"How could I? I'm just a voice."

Charlie stepped out of the broken mirror maze, crunching over the broken glass.

Willy said, "Charlie, are you sure you're alright?"

He touched his head again, but the bleeding seemed to have stopped. He said, "I think it'll be fine."

"I'm sorry Charlie. I'd bandage it for you, if I wasn't inside a seashell."

"How the heck did you get stuck in there anyway?" Charlie asked. He couldn't help himself; he gave the conch a swift shake.

There was a sound like a wardrobe sliding and scraping down a marble floor. Followed by a loud crash. "Whoah!" cried the voice from the conch. "Charlie, watch out for the furniture! You nearly crushed me with the chest-of-draws."

"Ah, I'm sorry!"

"Hold on. Let me put the wardrobe back up the right way." Huffing and puffing, and the shriek of something scraping. Very gingerly, Charlie put the conch to his ear like a telephone. "As—to your question," Willy said, with a huff, "I'm in here, " and a puff, "because _he_ put me in here." A slick slapping sound, as he dusted his hands. "_There_," he said.

"He?" Charlie said. "Who's _he_?"

"You know, him," Willy said evasively. "_Him_." With a strain in his voice, as though it pained him to admit it, "Alright, _me_. That is, not me, but the me from the future. The me you know. But the me that is definitely not me, because _I'm nothing like that dirty old codger_."

It took Charlie quite a few moments to puzzle this one out. "You mean Mr Wonka?" he said. And then, rather lamely, "You don't sound like you like him—I mean, yourself, or, uh, yourself from the future, very much."

"That's because I don't," he snapped. He was startlingly ferocious. "He put me in here. He locked me up and hid me away. When I get hold of him, I'm going to kick his arse."

Charlie had walked as he talked. Now, he stopped. They were in the middle of the closed-down fun fair, called in by the whistle of the calliope. He said, "That seems a bit drastic."

"The fight's already been prepared. He's waiting for us."

"Mr Wonka knows we're here?"

"Of course he does. He's me."

Charlie pointed out something he thought Willy might be forgetting, "But how," he asked, "are you going to fight yourself?"

Willy seemed like a nice boy, thought Charlie, but he had picked up the bad habit of being embarrassingly cryptic. Because to what Charlie asked he simply said, "Everyone has to fight themselves sometimes."

Something slammed. A creaking wail almost made Charlie jump out of his skin. He spun round quickly; it was the ghost house. It was starting up, the lights coming on, the cars moving on the track. Behind him, the bumping cars came to life, bashing and head-on bumping though nobody was driving them. The ferris wheel began to creak forward and the rotor began to whirl. There were screams of terror and pleasure, all mixed up together, though Charlie couldn't see a single of the souls that were making them.

Willy said, "Oh I'm sorry if I startled you. I was just having a flashback."

"What does that have to do with—" said Charlie, but before he could continue—

"Mum, Dad and I went to this fair every summer," Willy said. His voice had become dreamy and faint, as if he were only half there. As he spoke, more lights blinked on, generators starting up with a _thrum._ "—Back when Dad wasn't so grumpy, that is," he interjected. "Every time, it was so packed you could barely move. The lines for the rides were huge..."

Charlie could hear it all now; hear as Willy's words brought it all to life. Screams and shouts, the creak and whirl of machinery. It was ghostly.

"It was so much fun," Willy said. "It was the time I looked forward to the most every year. When it got close, I crossed of the days on the calendar. But… the last time we went together, things were different. Mum had started to act strangely. All night, she kept looking up at the moonless sky and saying—"

"I should be up there."

Charlie started. Standing a foot away from him was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. She had silvery hair that flowed like a waterfall down to her waist and was as willowy as a silver birch tree. She was smiling, but it was a melancholy smile, and her eyes- purple eyes!- were filled with longing.

"You're Willy's mother, aren't you?" Charlie asked. He didn't expect her to answer him, but she turned and smiled sadly at him.

"Yes," she said.

Charlie looked at her. He looked up, at the blank canvas of the open sky. He said, "You're the moon, aren't you?"

"Willy told me you were a perceptive boy," she said. A sad quirk of her lips. "I hope he's been a good friend to you."

Charlie thought about this. "Which one?" he said finally.

"They are both my beloved boy," she said. She said this with a certain firmness Charlie didn't understand, till he heard the voice in the conch grumbling. She said sharply, "Both. _Both_. And it's not favouritism because you're both the same person."

Willy grumbled something like, "I'm nothing like him."

"Yes," she retorted, "but you will be." This simply led to more grumbling, however. "You're not perfect yourself, you know," she said.

"Of course I'm not," Willy said sharply. "You abandoned me, Dad abandoned me, and I've been stuck in this goddamn conch for years. Of course I'm not goddamn perfect."

His mother sighed a deep long, sad sigh. She turned and looked at Charlie. "This is really my fault," she said. "I loved Willy's father, but when I left, he changed. I never really should have married him. I was reckless with love. I abandoned myself to it and abandoned my true self. I knew I would have to go back someday, but I still married Wilbur… Willy should really never have been born."

"You can't say that," Charlie said, utterly appalled. "He's your son!"

She put her head in her hands. "I know. I know! I'm an awful mother!"

"Yeah," said Willy, "you know that really hurts Mum."

"I'm sorry darling. But you know I love you, don't you?"

With the bored air of someone who's done and gone through with this a thousand times. An almost familiar drawl, "Yes Mum. I know. I love you too."

"Try and remember this time, won't you? Try really hard this time. Grow up, and remember."

"I'll try, but I am who I am."

"You know that I never meant to hurt you, right?" she said.

"You are who you are."

Sweeping round to face Charlie with something like desperation. "Already, he's so cold," she said. She approached him quickly, with urgency. Put her hands on Charlie's shoulders. "I hate to lay this on you Charlie, but I need you to help me. I think you're the only one who can do it."

"Me?" said Charlie.

"You love my son. And he loves you, I know."

Charlie opened his mouth to protest. "But—"

"I _am_ the moon," she said rather wryly. "I see a lot. Oh, and Charlie, you know," gripping him more tightly, "sometimes we fall in love with the wrong people. The wrong gender, the wrong race, the wrong age. Like—like a man falling in love with the moon! But none of those things matter if everything else is _right._ If it's done properly, with love, not lust. Wilbur and I weren't right for one another and everything we made together ended up being a mistake, but Charlie, you and my son-!"

"Enough," Charlie said. He took her hands and pushed her away. There was steel in his voice. "I don't want to listen to another single word. Not from a mother who wishes her son was never born. What kind of mother are you? I don't even want to imagine a world without Mr Wonka. How dare you! For even thinking it!" His breast was heaving, his face flushed. "You don't deserve him!"

Her lip trembled. She reached out towards Charlie, and at the last minute, withdrew back to herself, wrapping her arms round her waist. She looked at him for a long time, and finally said, in a whisper, "I see. I was right. Willy, take him to the big top."

"Alright, Mum."

Charlie turned away. As they headed towards the purple and gold striped big top, Mrs Wonka called out after her son, "Willy, don't beat yourself up so much! I still blame your father. Beat _him_ up, instead. Go give him the old one two with the frying pan, from me!"

When Charlie looked back over her shoulder, she had vanished. He noticed that the moon had returned, like a glass orb hanging from a string, its delicate light overpowered by the glare of electric light bulbs. He had never noticed how fragile the moon was before.

As they fell into the shadow of the big top, the coldness in Willy's voice receded; the same coldness he had often heard his in his mentor's voice. He became the same Willy who'd cried because he'd realised magic wasn't real. He said despondently, "I wish we could have met like this when I was young. Then maybe none of this would have happened. I used to be nice, you know. Not like this. I was a good person. I did what my parents told me. I never told lies. All I wanted was to make candy."

But Charlie said, "You still _are _a nice person. And so is Mr Wonka. You're just being too hard on yourself."

"You wouldn't say that, if you knew some of the things we've done," he said quietly. "It's awful, Charlie. You're never going to forgive us."

Charlie was having to hold the conch right next to his ear just to hear Willy. But from the things he was saying, he was tempted to give the seashell a good, hard shake. He said, "I _trust _Mr Wonka."

Willy's laugh was mirthless, hollow. "Then you're stupid," he said. "Who trusts a man who doesn't even show his hands?" He added, in quick succession, "He's mean, he's selfish, and he's cruel. He's forgotten how to be a child, but without a childhood, you can't grow up. He thinks the world revolves around himself and he can do what he wants with no consequences. He built himself his own kingdom with his own rules. Locked everybody else out, and made himself king of a candy castle. If he can, he'll lock you away too. And one day, if you don't watch out Charlie," he said firmly, "he won't share."

_To be continued._

_In the next chapter, '__**Let's get Ready to Rrrrrumbbbbbllllllle!' **__Wonka prepares to challenge for the universe belt, by fighting the entire world! He'll fight me and he'll fight you. He'll even fight himself. (Now that's professional dedication for you!) He'll fight anyone who asks because fighting is the only language he knows, and he's gonna let his fists do the talking. The universe will be far cosier with only two, because as Wonka knows, Charlie and he are the only creatures worthy of existence._


	23. Chapter 23

In this chapter we go a little further into the land of dreams and Wonka's conciousness. But do we turn left, turn right? Let's hope we don't get dizzy!

_Chapter XXIII- Let's get Ready to Rrrrrrrummmmblllllle!_

"Roll up! Roll up! Come see the greatest show on earth! Willy Wonka, the living legend, has vowed to defeat _every single opponent _and win the universe belt. It's the fight of the decade, the century, the millennia! You don't want to miss it!"

Willy and Charlie were jolted from their conversation by the lilting voice rolling across the fairground, riding up and down the scale of notes as he played his voice like a musical instrument. It called, "Roll up! Roll up! Come see the greatest show on earth!"

They were overshadowed by the looming mass of the big top. Purple and gold stripes streaked with the putrescent colours of the fairground, golden guide ropes tied round pegs of white walrus teeth. The billboard boarded by incandescent, interchanging lights, flicked on. The letters, arranged to read;

WONKA MEMORIAL STADIUM

TONIGHT; Willy Wonka V The World

SUN; The Oompa-Loompa Symphony Orchestra

THUR; Disney on Ice

"Alright," said Willy. "This is the place."

Charlie holding the conch to his chest, they ventured inside. The darkness inside the tent was impenetrable; it swallowed them like the whale. It was completely silent, the only sound Charlie's _skuff skuff_ footsteps on the wooden boards and the quickening thumping of his heart.

Then, as though it were waiting for them, the tent came to life like a clockwork carousel. Spotlights so hot they were incinerating to the touch, a wave of noise breaking through the boy like a tsunami. Deafening cheers, the stamping of feet so frenzied the floorboards shook and Charlie's bones rattled. The tent was bigger on the inside. Towering bleachers jostling with a teeming crowd, still pouring into the tent. They buffeted Charlie inside, driving him in like a piece of cattle towards the boxing ring. Someone accidentally elbowed him in the stomach as they shoved past.

"Sorry, kid," they said roughly, but there was no one there. In fact, it occurred to Charlie suddenly, there was nobody there. The crowd shouted, sharked, boo'd, hissed, made the noise deafening, but they were invisible.

The only ones visible were Willy Wonka, who, inside the boxing the ring, was boxing a kangaroo. He hadn't taken off his plum dressing gown with a double gold WW embroidered on the back, and was wearing giant novelty boxing gloves. He seemed to have been going at it for quite a while, but what the scoreboard above meant—reading 342—Charlie hadn't the foggiest.

Megaphones boomed out the voice of the announcer, a quick-speaking American, who announced, "This is sport chief Billy B Bobbity, giving you the lowdown on today's biiiiiiiiig fight! I'm here with veteran Harry H Hoppity, AKA, THE BRUISER. Though of course, you aren't brusin' no more, are you Harry? How's retirement been treating ya?"

"Been kicking back. Looking at the world. Making shapes outta clouds. Starting to realise there's more to life than fighting," said Harry H Hoppity in a slow drawl.

Billy B Bobbity laughed nervously, "Ha-ha-ha!" Then he said, "You sure you in the right job Harry?"

In the ring, Willy Wonka was sweating ferociously under his dressing gown. He bounced on his heels, to lurch forward in a devastating left hook.

"Careful, Mr Wonka!" cried Billy B Bobbity. "No below the pouch punches!"

The kangaroo went flying out of the ring. Screams, as he smashed into the stand, bits of chipboard soaring.

"Oooh, and Skippy is out! Sorry Skippy!"

CLANG! went the bell, and the scoreboard flipped one number forward. It now read 343. Charlie stared; surely, that couldn't be right!

"What did you think of Skippy's performance tonight, Harry?" asked Billy.

"Shows the past doesn't always come back to bite you, Billy," said Harry.

"No idea what you're talking about Harry. Next up in the ring, GIVE IT UP FOR- THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PAST."

Streaming into the arena, one after another, was the most bizarre selection of boxers Charlie had ever seen. After the ghost of Christmas past was the admiral of the navy, followed by the ring master of a circus. There was even a troop of invisible boxers. Wonka fought them all, punching against the wall of thin air, being knocked back by shattering punches, cheeks smeared back against his jaw bone from invisible fists. He fought like a famous mime, sweat pouring down him, not a single break in his concentration. And yet, somehow, he managed to fight flamboyantly. He piroutted. He twirled. He smashed his fist into his opponent's faces with all the graceful gait of a dancer. It was mesmerising to watch. His opponents fell like dominos, many of them not lasting a minute. Charlie stood and watched, as the minutes went to hours and days, and the scoreboard flipped forward and forward, became stuck on 999 and couldn't go any higher, till invisible workmen added another digit.

"Wow, folks, what a show we've got here tonight!" exclaimed Billy. "The whole world has turned out to challenge Willy Wonka, and he is on FIRE! What do you think Harry?"

"If you choose to fight the world, "Harry said, "don't be surprised if the whole world turns up."

"I'm sorry Harry, could you adjust your microphone? I keep mishearing you."

Willy Wonka fought spectres. He fought demons. He fought angels and strange races from faraway tribes. In his strangest fight, he faced a top hat sat on an old wooden stool. He walked forward, put it onto his head, and the crowd exploded with cheers.

Then, he began to fight people Charlie recognised. He fought Ficklegruper, Slugworth and Prodnose, who fought him silently, taunting Wonka with their silence. ("Candymakers down for the count!" cried Billy.) He fought people Charlie hadn't seen in years; Mrs Beauregard, Mr Salt. ("Out of the ring and out of the game! Talk about salt on the wounds," said Billy.) Then, he fought Charlie's father.

When Mr Bucket stepped into the ring, at first Charlie was too shocked to move. He stepped in with a calm, quiet easiness and none of Mr Wonka's flamboyance. Actually, he seemed quite puzzled as to why he was fighting and reached out his hand towards the man for a handshake. And before Charlie could get close to the ring through the bustling invisible crowd, Wonka had sent his father flying.

Charlie's mother climbed over the ropes.

This was really too much! Charlie yelled, "Mr Wonka, don't hit my Mum!" but of course, Wonka couldn't hear him. He tried to push through the crowd, but was hit by a wall of complaints, and a firm shove back.

Unlike her husband, she seemed to have a clearer idea of what was going on, and she seemed to be prepared to fight. There was a grim determination in her eyes.

"Well whaddya know," said Billy. "Looks like this lil lady's rarin' for the fight!"

Harry replied, "Even if it's painful, mothers have to be prepared to protect what they have."

Billy said, "Yessirre, she sure doesn't want to lose her belt!"

Mrs Bucket threw herself at him. Charlie's jaw dropped open. The fight was intense, but short. He had never seen his mother like it; she fought with a controlled ferocity, throwing punch after punch, backing him into a corner. But Wonka was too fast. He blocked; he ducked; he weaved. He disappeared altogether and appeared behind her, politely tapping her on the shoulder. Then, he knocked her down.

The crowd broke into stupendous applause as invisible medics carried Mrs Bucket off in an invisible stretcher, and tipped her down a shoot.

"That doesn't go to the incinerator, does it?" Charlie asked nervously. He was getting the feeling that, once upon a time- in a place he wasn't sure he hadn't dreamt up!- something similar had happened.

"Nahh," said Willy, "It'll just take them back to the material world."

Material world? thought Charlie. Whatever was that?

The next fight was simply so ridiculous Charlie couldn't even watch. Billy cried, "And now, the amazing tag-team, the GOLDEN OLDIES." Charlie's four grandparents tripped and stumbled into the ring. They didn't seem to know where they were and Grandma Georgina promptly wandered off. (How was this even possible? Three out of four grandparents hadn't got out of bed in a decade.) Grandpa Joe got out a feather duster and started dusting and George and Josephine stood and chatted about the weather. Wonka ended by the match briskly by launching himself off the ropes and knocking the lot of them over like bowling pins. Charlie covered his eyes.

"STRIKE!" cried Billy.

By now, the scoreboard had changed to read 99,998. Doris entered the ring.

It looked to be an outrageously unfair fight, with Doris reaching only to Wonka's knee. She wasn't afraid however; she put in her mouth guard, threw off her dressing gown and began shadow boxing. On the back of her golden boxing shorts someone had embroidered a D.

"Hey, hey," said Billy, "This is a fight this isn't going to last long. If Mr Wonka's a lightweight, this mini madam must be a _featherweight._ Whatdda you think Harry? Should this fight go ahead?"

"Sometimes we cannot help but fight the ones we love."

The bell clanged. Wonka bounced forward for the first punch, but Doris had disappeared—she had ran through his legs! She turned and hit him with a good jab in the leg, sending him off-balance.

Oooooooooh! cried the crowd.

She climbed on top of the ropes and threw herself at him in a crippling body slam.

Ahhhhhhh! gasped the crowd.

Straddling his chest, she pounded his face, one cheek, then the other, as though she were pounding dough.

Wooooooooow! exclaimed the crowd.

"Would wudda thought it?" exclaimed Billy. "Doris shows us that LESS is MORE."

But the fight was far from finished yet.

His jaw dislocated, already purpling, Wonka raising himself from the floor with a slow, trembling concentration. His eyes and Doris' locked, glaring like the fiercest of enemies. He flung himself at her. They rolled, gold and purple, gold and purple, over and over, and began to wrestle.

"Whoah, folks! The rules have gone out the window. Is the referee going to allow it?"

The referee, a whistle hanging on a slack string, said, "I'm going to allow this."

As Doris put Wonka in a chokehold, his face slowly turning blue, Billy exclaimed, "The ref has allowed it! Is this a fair fight or what?"

"All is fair in love and war," said Harry.

"Harry," said Billy, "what the bloody hell are you on about?"

Doris and Wonka wrestled like two clashing titans. Doris threw him to the wooden floor with a shattering hollow thump, held him in an arm lock, held him down.

Let's face it. It's impossible that this could have happened. But let us face this too; it did.

"ONE—TWO—" counted the ref.

Like an exploding geyser, Wonka threw her from him. They began to circle one another, two wild animals getting ready to spring. When they clashed together, stone crumbled, the world rocked on its hinges.

"This could go on for a long time," drawled the voice from the conch. He sounded deeply bored. "You wanna get some popcorn Charlie?"

The round ended with a clang. Doris and Wonka retreated to their respective corners, but barely seemed tired. Their eyes still locked, as soon as the bell sounded they were at each other again. Endless rounds passed but neither Doris nor Wonka showed any signs of conceding. They seemed evenly matched. Wonka was stronger, but his thick dressing gown hindered him; he sweated like a pig in it, tripped over the hem in it. His hat kept falling off and he kept scurrying to pick it up. Though Doris was smaller, weaker, this made her his equal.

"Hey Mr Wonka," Billy said, "perhaps you'd fight easier without your hat!"

Wonka glared up in the direction of the announcer's box like he would fight Billy in a minute if he didn't shut up.

"But I don't understand," said Charlie. "Why doesn't he _say_ anything?"

"Don't need to. He's letting his fists doing the talking," said Willy, voice lilting lazily. Then he asked, "Hey, you want to get some peanuts?"

"End of round 37!" the ref called. The bell sounded with a _CLANG!_

"This is so stupid," Charlie said. He felt deeply frustrated. He watched as Wonka retreated to his corner and slumped down onto his stool, panting.

"PEANUTS! Get your fresh, roasted PEANUTS here," clamoured an invisible seller.

Some of the crowd started to drift to get refreshments. Charlie knew this was the only chance he'd get. He rushed to the ring, shoving people out of the way, ducking under Doris the security guard's arm as she snatched for him. Ran straight up to his mentor's corner calling, "Mr Wonka! Mr Wonka!" He grabbed him by the shoulder. "Mr Wonka, you need to stop fighting. You need to wake up!"

Because, truth be told, for some time now Charlie had forgotten he was dreaming. The longer he had dreamt, the more he had forgotten he was dreaming. This world threatened to suck him in and never spit him back out, as it had Wonka. Only now, seeing him slumped and panting, in pain, did he remember in a jolt that in the real world, Wonka was dying.

"Please, Mr Wonka. You have to remember!" he cried. If he were in a conch, he would have shook him so hard the furniture would have gone flying.

Wonka turned round and looked at him. But, Charlie recognised instantly, he did not see him.

"Pass me a towel, wud ya?" he asked.

"But _Mr Wonka_!" Charlie moaned. In desperation he reached up to touch him. If he couldn't see sense, perhaps he could make him _feel _it.

But Wonka's dressing gown was so thick, so fluffy, impenetrable, he probably didn't even realise Charlie was touching him.

Instead, he popped his mouth guard into Charlie's open hand.

"That's better," he said. "Now, where's that towel?"

Angrily, Charlie picked up the towel and roughly towelled him down with it. He was so wet he might just have got out the shower. His clothes were soaked through.

"Mr Wonka," he hissed. "You need to stop fighting. While you're in here fighting, outside you're dying."

Like a true sports enthusiast who can easily tune out the rest of the news in the world (terrorist attack; double arson; drowned puppies!) and tune back in just to hear about Wayne Rooney's goal, out of everything Charlie was saying, he managed to hear this.

Or, part of it, anyway.

"Stop fighting?" he exclaimed. "Are you mad? Hey, who are you working for?" He was leering now, suspicious and ugly.

"No one!" spluttered Charlie. But Wonka didn't hear him.

"Who asked you to come here? Ficklegruper? My father? Her?" He pointed roughly at Doris in the opposite corner. Suddenly a child, demanding, "_Tell me_!"

"Leave him," said Willy. "There's nothing you can do for him now."

"Why couldn't you speak to him?" Charlie said. He spoke hotly, but tears were brimming in his eyes from a sense of helplessness. Why wouldn't Mr Wonka listen to him? _Why couldn't he do anything?_

"He wouldn't be able to hear me either," Willy replied. "The only language he knows now is fighting."

"Then what _can_ we do?"

"It's up to Doris now to knock some sense into him. If she doesn't, it's my fight next. If he wins a million fights, he'll lose his life."

"AND NOW we've got a real special treat for all you sports fans out there! Yes siree, we've got the highlights of Willy Wonka's glorious career comin up in our half-time movie. And it's sure a sight to see, ain't it Harry?"

Harry said, "Just roll the tape and get it over with, Billy."

A projector screen descended from above the ring. Beethoven blasted from dozens of speakers. A dramatic movie voiceover boomed, "He's won twenty-seven belts, won the world title, NOW WILLY WONKA IS GOING TO FIGHT THE WORLD. We are proud to present, THE ATHORISED CAREER OF MR ONE WILLY WONKA—"

* * *

><p>INT. INTERVIEW ROOM- DAY<p>

* * *

><p>CUT TO: Wonka, being interviewed. He sits comfortably in an armchair, hands folded on his lap. Behind him crackles a roaring fire. Above the mantelpiece are his numerous trophies and awards.<p>

INTERVIEWER: Thanks for coming to talk with us today, Mr Wonka. We know you value your privacy so it's a real honour you agreed to allow DREAM productions to film your first interview in twenty years.

WONKA: I'm happy to be here, George.

INTERVIEWER: Is there anyone want to thank for getting where you are today?

WONKA: Gee wiz! You know, there's so MANY people I want to thank. My family, for y'know, leaving me. That's my mother who abandoned me age eight—if they've got satellites that reach that far into space, hey Mum! And Dad too; hi there Dad! But you know, I definitely wouldn't be where I am today without the loyalty of my old workers. Thank you so much, to all of you!

From anyone else this kind of speech would be antipathetic, but Wonka speaks with the same gushing sincerity of a starlet at the Oscars.

INTERVIEWER: Wow, that's wonderful Mr Wonka! Would you say it's important to have such supportive friends and family?

WONKA; I'd dare to say it's made me the man I am today.

INTERVIEWER: Do you mind if we briefly take a look at some of the highlights of your career?

WONKA: Not at all. Roll away!

Wonka winks at the camera.

* * *

><p>[INT. INVENTING ROOM, FACTORY-DAY]<p>

* * *

><p>CUT TO: Secret, static footage of a younger Wonka, bending over a vat of purple goop. Wonka's head of security, Gary Grimbles, approaches.<p>

CAPTION: Willy Wonka receives the news that will drive him into seclusion for the next five years of his life.

GARY GRIMBLES: I'm sorry sir. It's in today's gazette. Prodnose has had a run-away success with a new brand of ice cream that never melts.

Half way through tasting the new concoction, Wonka manages to drop his spoon into the mixture.

WONKA: …Oh.

The vat explodes, spraying him with purple goop. He stands very still.

WONKA: (Recovering) Well, gosh darn it! Aren't these creepy crawly candymakers sneaky? We better tighten security! Why I bet they've been crawling in through the fudge tubes. Ha- ha!

GARY GRIMBLES: No sir. The fudge tube would lead them to the furnace, remember?

Another, strained, charged pause, and then—

WONKA: Oh yeah! Well then, the devils must be comin' down the chimney—think they're santa claus, do they? I'll show them. Ho- ho!

GARY GRIMBLES: Actually sir, I think it's much more likely someone in the factory has been passing along the secret recipes.

Grandpa Joe approaches from behind with a cloth.

GRANDPA JOE: You got sure a faceful this time, didn't you sir? Let me try and get some of it off you.

He begins to try and clean off the goop.

WONKA: You mean like… a spy? One of the workers?

His lip trembles. Suddenly, a complete change in personality. As though steel shutters have come down over his eyes. He turns on Grandpa Joe.

WONKA: Was it you?"

WORKER 1: (Prev. Grandpa Joe) No, sir!

WONKA: _You_?

WORKER 2: (Prev. Gary. G) Mr Wonka, of course not!

WONKA: How do I know? Any one of you could be the spy.

WORKER 2: (Prev. Gary. G) Sir, we all have great respect and admiration for you. We would never—

WONKA: _How do I know?_

Grandpa Joe is still trying to clean the goop from Wonka's coat. He flinches away.

WONKA: Don't touch me!

* * *

><p>[INT. HUT, LOOMPA LAND- DAY]<p>

* * *

><p>CUT TO: The interior of Doris's hut. A much younger Doris in tribal outfit and grass skirt kneels and tends to an injured Wonka. Her eyes lack the cynicism of her later years. He begins to wake. Struggling, sits up.<p>

WONKA: Uh… hello?

Doris stares at him.

WONKA: (CONT'D) Where am I?

Doris continues to stare.

WONKA: (CONT'D) And… you are?

Doris doesn't even blink.

WONKA: (CONT'D) Uhhh… I Tarzan. You Jane. Okay?

Doris comes forward carefully. Then she pokes him with one swift prod.

WONKA: (CONT'D) Yeowch! Hey, what do you think you're playing at, little lady?

Doris bursts into raucous laughter.

CUT TO: Doris and Wonka in the same hut. A different, much later occasion. Wonka sits perched on the end of a teeny chair, gesturing vigorously and excitedly.

WONKA: So like, I had this fab-tabulous idea last night. Instead of living in this _crummy second-rate_ forest, why don't y'all come work at my factory for me?

He beams at her. Doris has been looking at him like the sun couldn't shine any brighter, but now, a frown passes over her face like a cloud.

DORIS: But. This is my home.

WONKA: Hey, hey, hold your horses! Hear me out. I'd pay you what you want, whatever you want. Accommodation, of course, and y'know just for you I'll throw in a cooked English breakfast.

DORIS: Pay…?

WONKA: Yeah. You know, like money.

DORIS: What is money?

WONKA: Money? Gosh, it's money. Ya know, to buy suff.

DORIS: What is buy?

WONKA: Well it's—you know what, just tell me what it is you like and I'll pay you in that.

Doris stares blankly.

WONKA: (CONT'D) C'mon, there must be something you like. Marbles? Glass slippers? A pumpkin carriage? Corn on the cob?

Doris begins to smile shyly.

DORIS: There is… one thing.

WONKA: Shoot.

DORIS: Cocoa beans.

Wonka begins to laugh so hard his hat falls off.

WONKA: Well y'know, I might even have a few of those lying around somewhere.

DORIS: For true?

WONKA: Sure! I got piles of them back home. Got too many of the darn things to be honest. They're dying to be given away.

Doris is up on knees, eyes glimmering with excitement. But suddenly, she wilts. She gets to her feet and wanders to the window, looking down at the jungle.

DORIS: I sorry, but I cannot. This my home.

WONKA: What? _But_—why would you want to live in this dump? I almost got ate seven times by seven different beasties on the way here.

DORIS: You eat, and are eaten. That is our way of life.

WONKA: But if you move to the factory with me, you can eat all you like and never be eaten!

A beat, and then;

WONKA: (CONT'D) All these god-awful creatures… aren't you afraid?

Doris does not answer for such a long time that Wonka looks as though he's wondering if she did not understand the question. In truth, she does not. Her face is young, striking and fearless.

DORIS: No.

Wonka becomes utterly downcast, like a disappointed little boy.

WONKA: I don't understand.

DORIS: You do not know. You have not seen the lamp-grass at twilight. Or a crystal heart open in midwinter. You do not know our jokes and stories. How could you understand?

WONKA: How can you make jokes when everyday, you're in threat of being eaten?

Doris grins, exposing her strong white teeth.

DORIS: If you cannot make joke about being eaten, what can you joke about?

* * *

><p>[EXT. LOOMPA VILLAGE- DAY]<p>

* * *

><p>CUT TO: Another day. Wonka arrives on a new expedition to Loompa Land. The camera follows him as he traverses the empty suspension bridges. He looks round, scratching his head. When he reaches Doris's hut, he hears someone crying. When he knocks, immediately, it stops. By the time she answers the door, seconds later, her face is empty like a blank slate and no trace of tears.<p>

DORIS: Come in.

She sits him down on a mat and briskly prepares him a bowl of disgusting green caterpillars. When she isn't looking, Wonka pulls a face and nudges it under the table with his foot. He looks round to see if anyone else is in the room, and his admiration for her grows ten-fold. She is a woman after his own heart. She knows that weakness, exposed, is made tangible, even exploitable. She knows tears are not to be shared. Moreover, it's embarrassing. Wonka cannot stand those who cry, blubber, or sniffle.

WONKA: The village is so quiet today.

DORIS: Yes.

WONKA: What's been cookin'? Everyone out hunting, something like that?

DORIS: It is a day of mourning.

A pause.

DORIS: (CONT'D) Someone was eaten yesterday.

WONKA: Who?

A longer pause.

DORIS: My brother.

For a moment, Wonka tries to imagine losing a family member in this way. He cannot. But he knows the words- mechanical things- he is supposed to say.

WONKA: I'm real sorry to hear that… and I'm sorry I dropped in at such a—

DORIS: Tell me about the factory again.

WONKA: Huh?

DORIS: The factory. Tell me about it.

She has turned round abruptly, with determination and something like loss shining in her eyes. Forgetting the sombre occasion, Wonka claps his hands together, delighted.

WONKA: You changed your mind? Wonderful! But hey—(Almost cruel;) I thought you weren't afraid of being eaten?

DORIS: (Instantly, fearlessly) I'm not. (Hesitates. Forgets Wonka is in the room. Drifts.) But my family… my mother, my brothers…

Wonka: (Shrewdly) Well, heck, you know- we could move the whole tribe in! There's plenty of room. Invite everyone!

Still drifting, only half aware, caught in the gravity of thoughts that will change the fate of her tribe forever, Doris sits silently.

DORIS: Nobody would ever have to be eaten again…

WONKA: And there'd be more cocoa beans than in your wildest dreams.

DORIS: In our dreams…

WONKA: Imagine it.

DORIS: Imagine…

Doris nods off in her chair like a drugged maiden, unaware of the spell the magician is casting over her like a net, intoxicated on his candy-coated dreams.

WONKA: I'd have to keep you secret from the world, but—(absently, to himself) –but that means my secret recipes would be sae. You would never be able to betray me…

For an instant, the dream that Wonka, the seller of dreams, is weaving round the woman slips, and she sees through the gaps in the shroud cast round her. Whenever we use magic, it comes from our very souls. Therefore, magicians are always at risk on their magic working backwards on them, of others glimpsing into their souls themselves. Doris looks at Wonka curiously.

DORIS: What would your family say? Would they agree, that we could move into the factory with you?

WONKA: (Puzzled by the very idea of it, by the very word itself;) _family?_

DORIS: Yes. Do you think we'd get along?

WONKA: Well if fudge ain't my uncle—you don't really think my family lives with me, do you? Honestly! Hanging over your head like an old dead…"

He trails off, struck dead by the astonishing pity in her eyes. His mouth opens, closes. He raises a finger to make a point. It wilts comically. He cannot stand it; he looks away.

DORIS: I understand. It is more urgent than I thought. We must move in right away.

Wonka wipes the moment from his memory, instantly, forever. He brightens.

WONKA: Really? Then I'll go to the chief, and—

DORIS: No. After the day of mourning is over, I will summon a meeting. Tomorrow, return and speak with Chief.

A pause, and—

DORIS: (CONT'D) Bring cocoa beans.

She moves over to him, puts a hand on his elbow that makes him rigid as a board. Looking like the world's smallest mother, she embraces him.

DORIS: (CONT'D) From now on, we will be your family.

* * *

><p>[INT. WONKA'S ROOM- DAY]<p>

* * *

><p>CUT TO: Grainy, static footage half hidden by a waste paper bin. On an antique record player, he is playing one of Wagner's symphonies, loudly. Wonka moves around the room with a kind of desperation. He flicks through a book, throws it down. Picks it up and reads it upside down, then throws it down. Scribbles, furiously, at a notebook, and then, furiously, scribbles it out. Starts to play his bugaloo horn but winces and throws that away too. Stands at his chest-of-draws, back to the camera. Stands there for a long time, hunched over with the flats of his palms against the drawer. Throws himself down on the bed. From the position of the camera, all we can see are his legs, dangling from the side.<p>

WONKA: Chewing gum is really gross. Chewing gum I hate the most!

The camera moves round, and we see [REDACTED] as Wonka [REDACTED]

[THE PREVIOUS SCENE HAS BEEN EMITTED FOR EDITING REASONS.]

[A SHORT INTERMISSION WILL FOLLOW. REFRESHMENTS MAY BE PURCHASED IN THE LOBBY.]


	24. Chapter 24

Are you all sitting comfortably? Got your popcorn? Peanuts? Nachos? Then let's get back to the half time movie. Roll it!

_Episode 24- WW's Greatest Achievements_

* * *

><p>[INT. CUTS N' BRUISES ROOM, FACTORY- NIGHT]<p>

* * *

><p>CUT TO: The steely white light of the hospital ward. Shot of fanlight, moving mechanically. Wonka, older, is in bed, attached up to an IV.<p>

WONKA: It hurts.

DORIS: It would. Trying to kill yourself usually does.

She rips a needle from his arm. Wonka pulls a face like it hurts. Doris looks him like he deserves it. She is older here, almost the same Doris that Charlie knows, and a bundle of controlled rage.

DORIS: (CONT'D) Seeing as how you wanted to do yourself in earlier, I shouldn't have thought you'd have minded a bit of pain.

She yanks out another needle.

WONKA: Yeowch!

DORIS: I would have thought you might even have enjoyed it.

WONKA: Doris, come now—

DORIS: Shut up. The only words I want to hear from your mouth is why you did this. Otherwise, zip it.

Childishly, Wonka closes his mouth with his hand like a zip. He folds his arms across his chest obstinately. But he jogs his wrist and yelps. Doris grabs his arm and puts it back down by his side.

DORIS: Do I have to swaddle you like a baby?

WONKA: (Sulkily) You're enjoying this, aren't you?

DORIS: Enjoy? Enjoy having to bandage up my friend and bring him back from the dead? _Enjoy_?

Wonka moves back a little, sensibly, because if Doris were a volcano she'd be about to erupt.

DORIS: (CONT'D) Did slicing yourself open somehow affect your _brain_ too? _What's wrong with you? _Do you do things like this just to worry me?

WONKA: (Bitterly) You could have left me. Then you'd never have to worry about me again.

DORIS: For God's sake Willy! Sometimes you make me so… _so angry_! After everything we've been through, that you'd still-! You make me want to—

After this outburst, this anger suddenly drains from her. She rests her head down on Wonka's chest.

DORIS: (CONT'D) I just don't understand why you'd do this Willy. Why you can't open up to people. Why you can't trust me. When I came here, it was on the understanding that it was to be your friend, not just your employee!

A pause, and then—

DORIS: (CONT'D) Don't you remember? It was that day, the day after my brother Tuulikki died…

Wonka is looking resolutely away.

DORIS: (CONT'D) For an instant I glimpsed—or thought I glimpsed—someone vulnerable, who needed help… as I had needed help, when you rescued me from the snozzwhanger… as you had needed help, when you were injured and we brought you back to the village… So you see, no matter how much you want it, I won't let you die. I think we shall carry on saving one another, until we are fed up of being saved, until we are truly saved, or, die trying…

WONKA: I think it'll probably be the latter.

DORIS: Even so! I shan't, can't, _won't_-

She grabs hold of his arm and examines it, pushing her glasses down onto her nose.

DORIS: (CONT'D) You've been picking your stitches again, haven't you?

A long silence. Only the desolate whirl of the ceiling fan.

WONKA: It was itchy.

Examining it closer;

DORIS: These will have to be redone.

She unpicks the old loose stitches. Wonka lies back with his eyes closed, uncomplaining. The only indication of what he's feeling is the one single twitch of his eyelids.

DORIS: (CONT'D) Are you sure you don't want morphine?

WONKA: No.

DORIS: You should have it if it hurts. When I said you deserved it, I was just angry.

Though his fingers tighten against his palm,

WONKA: It doesn't hurt.

After a long time;

DORIS: I wish I knew what you were thinking.

After an even longer time;

DORIS: (CONT'D) Sometimes, I wonder if I made the right choice.

When Wonka doesn't ask, what choice?-

DORIS: (CONT'D) About leaving the village, I mean.

As Doris snips the piece of thread with her teeth and begins to stitch up Wonka's wrist, open and exposed like a split cedar, she loses her own thread of thought. Only as the stitching comes together do her thoughts return.

DORIS: (CONT'D) And you've ruined the chance of me ever finding a husband, you know that, don't you? Because I think of 'husbands' now, not 'mates.' I've become too modern. And not just that; they wonder about us. Because I'm with you so often, they can't help but wonder…

WONKA: Are you done yet?

Doris snips the end of the thread, a little too sharply.

DORIS: I hate you.

WONKA: I know.

DORIS: I wish I'd never met you.

WONKA: I know that too.

DORIS: You're cruel. You're selfish. You're just one giant floating ego, with the exception that behind the persona you've carefully sculpted you don't actually like yourself. And furthermore, you can't for people to touch your scars.

She runs her fingers down it, the old one, raised against the smoothness of his milk-chocolate skin. The one he told her about, one winter's day, when Doris thought they were going somewhere, she and him. When, as it turns out today, if they were going anywhere, it was backwards. When she touches the scar, he shivers.

WONKA: I know all that too.

DORIS: (With all the tenderness of a mother, a sister, a lover, dresses which she will, at times, try on and discard, because none will completely fit;) Then do something about it! Ask for help. Ask, and it'll be given. Ask!

WONKA: I can't. It's as you say; I'm too selfish and too cruel.

They've hit a wall. The same wall they hit every time, which there is no going round. Doris has been leaning forward on her chair, knuckles white against the seat. Now, she leans back, like there's nothing to be done.

DORIS: I see. I understand now.

In spite of himself, Wonka peeps one eye open. Doris and he go round in the same circles everyday, but this is new. In spite of himself, it has become usual, a habit, almost comforting to be harassed by Doris. In spite of himself, he does not like the resolution in her voice. Even if he has given up on himself, he has become accustomed, by habit, made comforted by the fact that she has never given up on him.

WONKA: What do you mean?

DORIS: I see it now. I won't be the one to save you.

WONKA: What are you talking about?

Fixes him with a mischievous smile. Leans forward quickly to pluck from his head—

DORIS: Don't you think you're getting a bit…old?

-One single silver hair.

WONKA: (Sitting up, snatching at the hair, missing;) OLD? Who do you think you're calling _old _missy_?_

DORIS: (Holding it behind her back;) Why, grandpa… I'm afraid you seem to be going grey.

WONKA: (Snatching again, Wonka manages this time to fall face-first out of bed;) GRANDPA?

He gets up to give chase, the saline drip wheeling after him ludicrously, but Doris stops right in front of him. She tugs on the bottom of his nightgown, forcing him down. Opens his palm and puts the hair into his palm like a gift. He stares at it blankly.

DORIS: (Amused;) What are you going to do with it? Glue it back on?

Wonka is staring at it like he's considering it. Doris laughs.

DORIS: (CONT'D) Now that you're fast approaching your twilight years, don't you think it'd be a shame if you popped your clogs without passing on your candy-making knowledge? You didn't consider, before you sliced yourself up like an apple, what happen to the factory when you aren't here to run it?

WONKA: Doris… what in fudge's sticky name are you on about?

DORIS: An apprentice.

WONKA: An apprentice?

DORIS: No. An _heir_.

For a moment, there is a light in Wonka's eyes that wasn't there before. He considers it. But then, raising his hands in the air, full-stop-

WONKA: Nuh-uh. No way. Not happening. I can't have some guy mooching around in my factory, stealing my secret recipes-

DORIS: Not an adult. A child. A simple, kind-hearted, knows right from wrong child.

WONKA: And where are we going to find one of those, huh?

DORIS: A contest. We invite a group of children to the factory and test them, and out of the bad nuts, you choose the good one.

WONKA: And what if they're all bad, eh? You didn't think about that, didja?

DORIS: Despite your charming views on people Willy, there are still some good ones around. He'll be there. I just know it.

WONKA: how do you know it's going to be 'he'?

DORIS: A girl for you would be no good. It's got to be a boy. A mischievous, intelligent boy.

WONKA: It isn't going to be a boy, or a girl, or a yellow-spotted toad for that matter cuz it ain't happening. I won't have a bunch of snotty kids running around in my factory!

DORIS: We could put the tickets inside the candy-wrappers. I bet sales would go through the roof, too!

WONKA: Did ya not just hear me? I said, finito! It's not happening.

DORIS: Not just tickets… golden tickets.

WONKA: Hey. You! Are you even listening?

DORIS: Oh of course I'm listening Willy but there's so much to do now! I've got to be prepare for the contest… candy production will have to be increased ten-fold, we have to let the news-media know, the factory needs to be spic, span, polished…

She begins to walk briskly away. Wonka hops after her, his foot tangled in the IV tube.

WONKA: Hey. Hey! This is my factory. Mine, you hear! You can't just—

He trips, falls.

DORIS: Don't you worry about a thing Willy. You rest and recover. I'll prepare everything.

WONKA: But I don't even—

He tries to get up, slides and slips on the linoleum floor.

WONKA: (CONT'D) –Like kids!

Doris is gone. He gets unsteadily back to his feet, ready to march into battle on Doris, when he starts to feel a little woozy. He decides to lie down, just for a minute. He can talk to Doris and stop this crazy plan later…

But as he starts to slumber, he starts to imagine. About all his years of creative genius, gone to waste. About his beloved factory, closing down, gone to seed. In his head he starts to sculpt a boy, a boy he can sculpt himself. Who will never betray him, who he can entrust all his secrets too. In spite of himself Wonka begins to imagine all these things so that inexplicably, he is up and about again a few days later, whistling. So that by the time he goes to Alphonso for his semi-annual haircut, he—just as Doris knew he would—thinks the idea is a marvellous idea, and isn't he an even bigger genius than he knew for coming up with it?

* * *

><p>[INT. WONKA'S OFFICE, FACTORY- DAY]<p>

* * *

><p>CAPTION: The result of which, is…<p>

CUT TO: Wonka, sat at his desk, tapping his foot briskly. His wrist is still bandaged, but he seems much happier. Doris stands by his feet with a large padded envelope. They are in mid-conversation.

DORIS: -We'll have to test them, fairly. That's the important thing. Being fair and unbiased.

WONKA: …So you have their details, list of favourite pickles and video surveillance?

DORIS: Naturally.

She leans up, he leans down and through joint effort she passes the folder up to him. Then she climbs up over an armchair onto the desk, and empties the contents of the folder over the table. She spreads apart five pictures of different children.

DORIS: This one bought over 50,000 Wonka bars just to find a golden ticket. She lives here—

A picture of a ridiculously luxurious manor house.

DORIS: (CONT'D) in Buckinghamshire, England. She's called Veruca Salt.

Wonka snorts.

WONKA: I always thought a veruca was a kind of wart you got on the bottom of your foot.

Then, pulling out some cue cards from his pocket and writing inspiredly;

WONKA: Oh, that's good. That's very good. I'll use that one.

DORIS: Willy… are you writing cue cards?

Wonka laughs nervously.

WONKA: Even actors need prompts so they won't forget their lines!

DORIS: Willy… you're not nervous are you?

WONKA: (laughing nervously;) Me? Nervous? Never madam! The very idea of it—

He quickly picks up the first photograph he sees without looking at it.

WONKA: (CONT'D) How about this one?

DORIS: Violet Beauregard. An American girl. But let me show you the footage we took of her. We got three Oompa-Loompas to stand on each other's heads and dress up like an Avon lady.

WONKA: Huh? How'd that work out?

DORIS: Well, apart from them being a very ugly Avon lady, pretty good.

She pops the tape in the VHS player.

* * *

><p>[INT. BEAUREGARD HOUSE, ATLANTA- DAY]<p>

* * *

><p>CUT TO: On screen, filmed from a pinhole camera in the eye of a blown up photograph of a woman and a girl, stood together, we see a little girl. She is pruning and posing in front of a mirror, blowing kisses to herself.<p>

SOUND CUE: The sound of a doorbell tinkling out the first bars of Material Girl.

GARY THE OOMPA-LOOMPA: He-llo! Avon lady calling!

The Avon lady's voice is strangely gruff and masculine. Sourly, Violet tears herself away from the mirror and answers the door to a strange, wobbling woman in a long coat. Before she does so, she quickly remembers to remove a bit of gum from behind her ear and pop it into her mouth. Chewing steadily, Violet looks her up and down like she doesn't think much of the Avon lady.

VIOLET: What do you want?

The Avon lady pinches Violet's cheek affectionately, but Violet tugs her head away.

GARY: Why, what a darrrrr-ling pretty little girl you are. And aren't you a lucky thing? I've just got some new blushers in that will suit your complexion perfectly—

VIOLET: Go away. I'm busy.

Violet tries to shut the door, but the Avon lady manages to wedge in an extremely small, dainty foot.

GARY: But wait a moment—how silly of me! I didn't even recognise you. You're Violet Beauregard, the gum chewing champion, aren't you? You chewed the same same piece of gum for four weeks, didn't you?

Violet opens the door a crack wider.

VIOLET: Not four weeks. Six.

The Avon lady peeps through the door into the living room at all the trophies arranged alphabetically in glass cabinets.

GARY: Goodness! Are all those yours too?

Looking over at the Avon lady with pursed lips she has stolen and perfected from her mother, Violet opens the door and lets her in, with such casual disdain you would have thought she was Bourgeoisie, not Beauregard.

VIOLET: Except for the two over the mantelpiece, they're _all_ mine.

The Avon lady wobbles over to the trophy case, makes the appropriate oohs and ahhs, while the Ooompa-Loompa on the bottom makes an appropriate gagging noise. The Avon lady is inspecting a smaller silver trophy when Violet says;

VIOLET: That' s just my mother's. _Mine_ are much bigger.

The pin hole camera zooms into a picture of a mother and daughter in horrendous matching clothes and haircuts, linking arms like school chums.

GARY: Where is your mother?

VIOLET: Talking to my press agent. And deciding on the designs for our new outfits. She'll be back later tonight.

GARY: Not till tonight?

Violet shrugs.

VIOLET: She'd just get in my way if she was around all the time. I've got eight world records to work on till then, you know. And _besides_—you know I won a golden ticket, don't you? So I have to prepare my strategy to win the big prize too.

GARY: What's that then?

VIOLET: Oh, Mr Wonka, that's so _interesting!_ Mr Wonka, I could listen to you all day. Mr Wonka, I love-!

* * *

><p>[INT. WONKA'S OFFICE, FACTORY- DAY]<p>

* * *

><p>CUT BACK TO: Wonka, staring at the TV screen with an expression like queasiness, quickly hits the eject button.<p>

DORIS: Oh, how sad…

WONKA: I don't 'spose we've got any more of that faulty three-course dinner gum lying around anywhere, do we?

DORIS: You mean the gum that made everyone you tested it on swell up like a giant blueberry?

WONKA: Yeah, get that.

CAPTION: Much, much later…

The sky out the window is dark. The table is littered with candy wrappers and Doris looks frazzled. Wonka, irritated.

WONKA: And why can't we light the furnace?

DORIS: Because that's murder, Willy, and we're not doing murder.

WONKA: (Indignantly;) And why not?

And then,

WONKA: (CONT'D) Oh, I get it. Too much paperwork. Why is it all the best things in life involve too much paperwork, eh?

By the look on Doris's face, she seems to be wondering if this contest was such a good idea in the first place. Instead, she slaps down a picture in front of Wonka. A fat boy in Düsseldorf shorts.

WONKA: Great. He'll probably eat the whole factory while he's here.

With mounting annoyance, she slaps down another picture, the last one. A skinny boy in a hand knitted jumper.

WONKA: (CONT'D) Well, this one much more nicely emaciated.

DORIS: His name's Charlie Bucket. He's a local, actually. Lives just down the hill. We bugged his house for a while but had to pull back once his grandmother discovered us.

She hits play on the audio player on the desk.

GRANDMA GEORGINA: (V.O) Charlie, Charlie, come look! Little midgets have put cameras in the house to peep on us.

CHARLIE: (V.O) Midgets? Why would midgets spy on us?

GRANDMA GEORGINA: (V.O) To learn how tall people don't get so dizzy from being so tall, of course!

…

Oooh, look out the window. They're making a break for it!

MRS BUCKET: (V.O) …Why don't go have a nice lie down while I put the kettle on, Mum?

Doris clicks the player off.

DORIS: It's a good thing no one listens to the wisdom of the old.

A beat, and—

DORIS: (CONT'D) …Though I still can't figure out how she discovered us.

Though he wouldn't stand for anyone else doing it, Wonka puts his feet up on the table. One of his many hypocrisies.

WONKA: You got anything else on him? What he likes to do? His favourite flavour of jam?

DORIS: I have his schedule right here. Every school day he gets up at six, helps his mother get breakfast, helps clean up afterwards—

WONKA: And lemme' guess, helps ladies cross the street?

DORIS: Does his paper round, leaving exactly two minutes to stand outside the factory and gawp in through the gates—

WONKA: Oh, a fan, is he? Sounds like a goody-two-shoes, but you gotta admit he's got good taste.

DORIS: His hobbies include collecting old Wonka bar wrappers, and—

Slapping another photograph down.

DORIS: (CONT'D) –Has spent two years building a replica of the factory from malformed toothpaste caps.

WONKA: OK, now that's kind of creepy… and yet, impressive!

DORIS: His family is also incredibly poor. He could only afford to buy two Wonka bars.

WONKA: Well, how lucky…

And then,

WONKA: How about this? If he's poor, we leave a money clip lying on the ground, and if he picks it up, it eats him!

DORIS: What if he picks it up to return it?

WONKA: Oh. Well, alright then. How about this; if he picks it up and tries to steal it, I'll throw him into the chocolate river!

DORIS: Willy…

From the look on her face, Doris is beginning to wonder if Charlie Bucket really was lucky to win that ticket, and also, that they'll be lucky themselves to get through this without a lawsuit.

* * *

><p>[INT. INVENTING ROOM, FACTORY- DAY]<p>

* * *

><p>CUT TO: From Charlie's emaciated figure, it is not long after the boy won the contest and moved in with his family. They are having a rip-roar of a good time testing the prototype of the laughing candy. It makes them laugh so hard that they laugh at each other's faces, and laugh so much they're on the verge of collapse, their eyes streaming. They hold each other up, quaking with guffaws and giggles. For the first time, Wonka has forgotten that he does not like others to touch him. The laughing candy wears off. Their laughter subsides. They beam at one another.<p>

CHARLIE: I think the dosage might have been a bit much that time.

WONKA: Just a touch, perhaps.

He realises he's still holding onto Charlie. Surprised, he quickly lets go. Charlie doesn't notice.

CHARLIE: We can sell it in different strengths. Garish giggles… little laughs, and—oh no, is that really the time?

Charlie looks up the multiple clocks on the wall.

WONKA: Well those first two are pretty snazzy but to be honest I'm not sure where ya were going with the last one.

CHARLIE: No, Mr Wonka. I mean I was supposed to be home an hour ago.

WONKA: …Oh.

Wonka looks so utterly downcast, like a sad puppy, that Charlie leans forward and gives him a goodbye hug.

CHARLIE: I'll be back tomorrow morning, soon as I can. Before breakfast, even!

In another of his hypocrisies, Wonka mumbles against Charlie's shoulder;

WONKA: couldntyoustay?

CHARLIE: Pardon?

Wonka pulls back.

WONKA: Couldn't you stay? Just for a little longer?

CHARLIE: I'm sorry Mr Wonka. I know you want to get this finished, but my family will be missing me.

Already, Charlie's eyes are somewhere else, the boy's mind is at somewhere else, other than him. Immediately, Wonka is brisk again.

WONKA: Yeah! That's it—I wanted to get this finished. Well, ya better run along then. Don't want to keep the folks waiting, you ya? TTFN! Chow!

But already, Charlie is running.

CHARLIE: Bye Mr Wonka! See you tomorrow.

VOICE OVER: Though he knows in his heart that they are good people, there are times when, truth be told, Willy Wonka does not like Charlie's parents very much. And as he carries on testing the candy, alone, he makes the discovery that when you feel sour, the candy tastes sour too.

WONKA: Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!

* * *

><p>[INT. CARAMEL LAKE, FACTORY- DAY]<p>

* * *

><p>CUT TO: Some weeks following the previous scene. Wonka and Charlie beside the caramel lake. The scenes roll faster now, like a tape that knows it's rolling to the end.<p>

SHOT: Camera moves across a lake of steaming caramel. The steam obscures much of the screen. When it breaks, like curtains rolling open, we see Charlie and Wonka standing on the bank, talking.

WONKA: Close your eyes and open your mouth. You've gotta try this; it's fantastic!

Wonka is so excited his hat wobbles and almost falls off. They beam at each other again, a habit they've formed recently, and Charlie complies.

CHARLIE: So long as it isn't chocolate cockroaches again, Mr Wonka!

Wonka giggles excitedly, and bends down to fill a daffodil teacup with hot caramel.

WONKA: Ready?

CHARLIE: So long as it isn't gross!

Charlie is standing there with his hands behind his back, pink little mouth open in an O, the corners tweaked in a smile. He is so utterly trusting that Wonka stops. Never to this moment had he realised there could be anything more beautiful than candy. The thought shocks Wonka, shocks him even more when he lips the teacup to Charlie's lips and his fingers brush him, and even through his gloves the feeling is like electricity jumping the synapses between them. Charlie's eyes flick open. They're bright and glowing, and he stares at his mentor like he's forgotten staring is rude. Wonka is unnerved. He giggles nervously, trying to break the moment because what he's feeling is too strange, goes against all his own rules. But Charlie keeps looking at him like he's never seen him before.

WONKA: (Narrowly avoiding a stutter;) How was it?

CHARLIE: (Breathlessly;) Wonderful.

* * *

><p>[INT. WONKA'S BEDROOM, FACTORY- NIGHT]<p>

* * *

><p>CUT TO: Wonka, in bed, wearing his plum dressing gown and matching nightcap. He keeps tossing and turning, talking to himself all the while.<p>

WONKA: I shouldn't.

Turning over onto his left side.

WONKA: (CONT'D) But I could.

Turning back to the right.

WONKA: (CONT'D) But I _can't._

Onto the left.

WONKA: (CONT'D) Heck, this is my factory, my rules. No one can tell me wrong and right. I can do whatever I want!

To the right.

WONKA: (CONT'D) But no, not to him…

Turning onto his front, so that the his mouth is muffled in the pillows;

WONKA: (CONT'D) mffmmmmfffmmmff.

* * *

><p>[INT. WONKA'S OFFICE, FACTORY- DAY]<p>

* * *

><p>CUT TO: A day very close to the present. Wonka, sat at his desk with his head in his hands. The door creaks open, and without even looking at her;<p>

WONKA: Doris, I'm not in the mood.

Naturally, Doris comes in anyway.

DORIS: I saw Charlie on the way here. He looked kind of upset. (Demanding;) What did you do to him?

WONKA: What did _I _do? Why'd do you always assume it's _my_ fault?

DORIS: Because it always is.

Wonka turns away and grumbles something that sounds a bit like;

WONKA: How'm I suppost'a know what everyone's thinkin'?

DORIS: Willy, you're mumbling!

Wonka glares at her sharply.

WONKA: Do you want something in particular or are you just here to be a bug and bug me?

DORIS: I've heard through the grapevine—

WONKA: You _would_.

DORIS: (Louder;) –That you've been cooking up poison. Willy, what the hell have you been up to?

WONKA: Not that's it any of your business, but it doesn't matter anymore. It's become quite evident that my efforts aren't wanted. _Why can't people—_

He slams his fist down, sending pencils flying.

WONKA: (CONT'D) _–just do what I say?_

DORIS: Oh Willy…

A beat, and,

DORIS: (CONT'D) You're such a drama queen.

* * *

><p>CUT TO: Wonka's office, a few days later. Same place, different circumstances entirely. Wonka and Charlie are asleep in each others arms. Doris, below, looks up in dismay.<p>

[The tape begins to break up. Static, and a brief message with a cheery jingle;]

**We're sorry for the inconvenience. WW's Greatest Achievements will return shortly.**

[The tape flickers back to life.]

WONKA: - They'll just have to get over it. This is my factory and I'll darn do whatever the fudge I want in it!

[More static. More of the cheery jingle.]

**Stay tuned for more of WW's Greatest Achievements!**

[The tape crackles. The picture gradually fades back in.]

Wonka is laughing a hard, maniac laugh.

WONKA: Let 'em all find out! What does it all matter? I should have seen it earlier! Charlie, this world is yours and mine, who is going to dare and stop us? Hey moral-Doris, you just watch this.

Roughly, Wonka kisses him. Charlie is left looking slightly stunned. Doris watches on, lips tightly pressed together. She feels as though she's witnessed a bank robbery.

[The tape hesitates, begins replaying one line over and over, and breaks.]

WONKA: Charlie, this world is yours and mine!

-Yours and mine-

-Yours and mine-

-Yours and mine-

* * *

><p>As the tape snapped, the auditorium was thrown into silence.<p>

"Wow, wasn't that amazing folks?" said Billy B Bobbity. "Such an incredible career; gives me the tingles! What do you say Harry? Harry? Harry?" But in the silence, Billy's enthusiasm sounded hollow, like noise.

"Yes," said Harry, "but Willy, I can't bear to see you this way."

All the glass in the announcing box smashed, like a bomb had hit it. And Harry, walking down stairs of broken glass that glistened like shards of diamond, was Doris.

She said, "Willy, I'm tired of going round in circles with you. I won't fight you anymore."

But as Doris entered the ring, Wonka simply shrugged his shoulders and said, "Fine with me." With one punch, he sent her flying. He raised his hands in the air to receive rapturous applause, but in the audience, someone coughed. Still, Wonka flexed and showed off as though the whole world was cheering him.

Charlie ran to Doris to help her up, but she had disappeared as though she was never there, along with the rest of the Doris's.

"Mr Wonka, how could you?" he cried. "She was your friend! She wanted to help you."

Wonka, finally, recognised Charlie. He smiled down at him with such a disarming, lovely smile, that it took Charlie aback.

"Just you sit tight kiddo!" he called. "Once I win a million fights, the only people left in this world will be you and me. We're the only creatures worthy of existence Charlie. Soon, this world will be yours and mine."

* * *

><p><strong>Notes: <strong>Hope ya'll enjoyed this one. I know I enjoyed writing it! The first scene is probably my favourite out of the whole story. The second, in Wonka's office as he prepares for the contest, was just a bit of fun. I always got the feeling that Wonka knew a lot more about the kids than he let on, and as to their punishments, well… "That all seemed rather rehearsed," didn't it? I've wanted to write about Wonka's dodgier aspects for a while. Charlie might think he's all sugar and roses, but let's face it, he didn't just punish those kids just for some warped version of justice, _he enjoyed it_. The title 'WW's Greatest Achievements' therefore, is meant to be ironic… The scene where Wonka is tossing and turning in bed is meant to be reminiscent of an angel and devil sitting on his left and right shoulders and if you read just the dialog in the caramel lake scene (emitting the chocolate cockroach line) it has two meanings. These days I like playing around with layers of meaning, juxtaposing the serious with the silly, or the abstract. But… I think I should stop here. The rest you can figure out yourself.

Going back to Wonka's idea of justice, I think Roald Dahl had some issues. I recently read some of his adult short stories (I had no idea he wrote any!) and most of them are about people being punished for their flaws. Has any one else read any of these? My absolute favourite is a story where a husband tells his devoted wife he's leaving her while she's thawing out a turkey for dinner. She accepts this calmly, then bludgeons him to death with the turkey leg. She puts the turkey—the murder weapon—in the oven, and when the police arrive she serves it to them for dinner, telling them she doesn't want it to go to waste.

Part of me thinks, _Should this guy really have written stories for kids!_ And another thinks, _It's so deliciously twisted, I love it!_


	25. Chapter 25

_Chapter 25- It has to be You_

Wonka's eyes were fixed on one person. He only saw one person. This was a man who could feel the pulse of life in all things, could weave it into a tune and work magic with it; who knew that the universe existed in all things, big and small, but right now, could only see it in the eyes of one small, insignificant English boy.

Charlie's own thoughts weren't quite so articulate. He had seen a lot of things that had confused him. A lot of things that had happened he didn't understand. He was just an ordinary boy, no faster or cleverer than any other boy; all he understood was that he loved this man, and whatever it took, he would save him. Even if it meant saving him from himself.

"Charlie," said the voice from the conch. It sounded dreadfully weary. "Do you see now? That's the kind of man he is. You only loved him because you never really knew him. He really doesn't care about anyone other than you and himself. Do you understand what that means? He'd fight anyone to get to you. Your parents. Your grandparents. He'd fight the world and he wouldn't care how many causalities he went through. Are you sure that's the kind of life you want?"

Something was stirring in Charlie's heart; both painful and wonderful. He said, "That film. Was it all true?"

"Yes. But he got hold of it at the last minute and edited it," –bitterly—"to make himself_ look better." _

And Charlie said, the words bursting from him, "But he just doesn't _understand_! That's the only problem. He doesn't realise that people care about him. If someone could just _make_ him understand…"

"Yes, _could_. But they can't, because there's no reasoning with someone whose skull is that thick." He sighed. "Let me out now Charlie. It's my fight next. I'll promise you I'll do my best, even if I have to beat sense into his skull with my fists."

But he didn't sound very positive about this.

Charlie asked, "How can we get you out?"

"This is a conch, so you have to blow it. I've been thinking all this time we'd have to get him to do it. But I realise now; it has to be you."

"I can do it?"

"I think you're the only one who can. You see, he locked me away in the smallest part of his heart because he couldn't bear to see what he'd become. I don't think he could let me out now, even if he wanted to. But _you_ Charlie—you're different. He's let you into his heart. You've the only one who can help us."

Again, that feeling grew inside him, intensified. Both terribly painful and terribly wonderful, like someone had reached inside him and crushed his chest with their fingers. He said, "But you don't understand Willy! Sometimes, how I feel with Mr Wonka. Like I'm a shadow; less than a shadow. He's so brilliant and I… I… what am I? I love him so much, and yet I…"

"You mean everything to him," Willy said simply. "One day, he'll tell you himself. He's not brave like you, that's all. But if it wasn't for you, he wouldn't be here now."

"When he tried to…" Charlie couldn't even finish. "I just don't understand. He had the factory, all his inventions, all the Oompa-Loompas. He had everything, didn't he?"

"No. He had nothing."

Charlie watched as Wonka flexed for the silent crowd.

He said, "You're sure I'm the one to get you out?"

Willy said, "If you can't, no one will."

So Charlie raised the conch to his lips. Hesitantly, he blew. At first, nothing happened. No music, not even the silly wet raspberry sound he'd got from shells at the seaside. He blew harder, till his cheeks deflated like sunken pools and his lips were dry. Even then he blew harder, even when like Violet Beauregard, his face started turning blue. He blew until he felt he would pass out, until the pain in his head was deafening, like the roar of ocean waves. He couldn't give up, even then, when the pain was causing him to slip under those waves—he had, had, _had_ to help Mr Wonka!

He wasn't aware he'd fallen to the floor till Willy reached his hand down towards him, smiling shyly in his gawky braces. He helped Charlie to his feet. He asked, "Are you alright?"

"I think so," Charlie said, still rather breathlessly.

Willy said, "Nobody's ever put themselves through pain for my sake before." He looked up at Charlie from under his eyelashes. "I've never had a friend like you before Charlie." There was an utter devotion in his eyes, similar, in fact, to the same devotion Charlie looked at Wonka with.

"You should have done," Charlie said. "It's not fair you had to be alone for so long."

Willy nodded, quickly wiping away a tear from his eye.

"And now—" announced Billy B Bobbity. Not a real man—behind the broken glass he was a straw doll, slumped against his microphone. He exclaimed; "—The final match of the night. He's fought the entire world, and now, he's going to fight himself! Give it up for Wooooooonka V Wooooonka!"

Willy let go of Charlie's hand, and looking towards the ring his face hardened, jaw set. Looking towards the man he'd become he was angry, bitter again. Grabbing hold of the ropes, Willy swung himself into the ring, where Willy faced Wonka.

"It's you," said Wonka, rather sourly.

"You didn't have enough fighting the whole world so you have to fight yourself too?" said Willy.

"Of course," said Wonka, like it was obvious. His lips twisted in obvious irritation; "How'd you get out, anyway?"

Proudly, Willy announced, "Charlie let me out."

Wonka looked over at Charlie- standing so close up to the ring he was clutching the ropes- in such blank, innocent surprise that, to tell the truth, it was beginning to become hard to tell who was the adult and who was the child. Then he twisted back around to glare at Willy petulantly.

"He did not," he said.

"He did so!" Willy sung, triumphant.

"Did _not._"

And like this, the fight begun. The bell clanged; on 'not' Wonka swung.

"Did so_."_

On 'so' Willy swung back!

"Didn't."

"Did!"

"Didn't!"

And the oddest thing about it was that each stood there, and took it. Did as Jesus would say, and turned the other cheek.

"Uh-uh!"

"_Nuh_-uh!"

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes!"

"No!"

"_Yes_!"

"_No!_"

"No—I mean yes—"

WHAM! And Willy reeled back, winded. But immediately, he was back in again, exclaiming;

"Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes!"

A quadruple blow—WHAM! Across the jaw. BAM! The torso. KA-POW! The cheek. WA-BUSH! Across the other.

"No. No. No. No!"

Back at him. And now, the words so fast they merged, bred into a slur;

"Yesyesyesyesesesessess-!"

Talking over the top of him, trying to drown him out;

"Nonononononononononnonononono-!"

"Yes times a hundred."

"Well, no times a thousand!"

"Then yes times a million."

"No times a million-million."

"Yes times a billion!"

"No times a billion-zillion-quazillion!"

"There's no such thing, stupid," said Willy.

"Then yes times infinity, padlocked, no returns!" said Wonka.

"You can't do that! It's cheating. Against the rules!" exclaimed Willy shrilly.

They broke apart, circling one another slowly, searching for weaknesses.

"We need to decide," he continued. "What rules are we playing by?"

"The same rules I live by; no rules!" said Wonka.

The circle tightened again as Wonka and Willy closed in on one another.

"I think you're lying," Wonka said. "Charlie is _my _friend."

"Actually," Willy said, "I think you'll find he's _mine_."

"You've only just met him," Wonka scoffed.

"He's closer to my age," Willy said.

"Our bond encompasses age," said Wonka quickly.

"Ours encompasses the laws of time and space," said Willy even more quickly. (Closing the gap, closer and closer, till they were forehead to forehead, nose to nose.)

"How would you know? You're much too short."

"How would you know? You're much too tall."

"Just an ignorant little kid—"

"Just a no-good, dirty adult—"

"A crying, blubbering baby!"

"A perverted horny old goat!"

This was a hit that hurt. Staggering up, Wonka exclaiming, "EXCUSE ME?" Getting up; tripping on his robe; falling again.

"You heard me, old man," said Willy. "You can't protect Charlie. You'll only hurt him."

Snatching the robe out the way, sweeping it behind him with a flourish.

"I would _never_ hurt Charlie."

KA-POW! The force of conviction, straight into Willy's kisser. He recovered quickly.

"That's what you say now. You said before you'd never act on your feelings, that you'd never corrupt his innocence."

"People change!"

"EXACTLY!" BAM! The force of hypocrisy, hard, into Wonka's temple. "They become cold, hard, _monstrous_!"

A triple blow, forcing Wonka back. He could only block, all the while being forced back into a corner.

"You couldn't open up, so you sucked him in. Forgot your own magic, so dazzled him with tricks. You couldn't tell the truth, so you lied to him."

"To protect him," Wonka cried. But the punch didn't connect. He was forced back, further, into the corner.

"To protect _yourself_. Because you knew if you let him find out what you really were, he'd leave you."

"Oh, be quiet—"

"Like that boy! The one you murdered—"

"You're mumbling!"

"And all those awful things you did to those kids, when you were a kid yourself—"

"MUMBLER!"

"You don't even remember what's it like to be a kid, so you act worse than one—"

"How would you know? Your mother never loved you!" said Wonka, triumphantly, but—

But even in matches with no rules, there are still lines we never cross. Punches we don't throw, because they hurt all of us.

The triumphant sneer faded from Wonka's face, dropped like a stone. They stared at one another, tears burning in Willy's eyes, would have burned in Wonka's too, if he hadn't gone and done something stupid like forgotten to cry.

"Dung-brained whangdoodle," Willy whispered.

"Son of a seven-snouted hornswoggler," said Wonka, low and upset and fierce.

They threw off their boxing globes, and like children in a playground brawl, began to push one another, trying to rile each other up for a fight neither of them really wanted.

"Face of a baboon's bottom."

"Bottom of a baboon's bottom."

"Stinky sandpapered squirrel's droppings."

Willy pulled Wonka's hair; Wonka pinched Willy. All the same their voices didn't rise; remained low, like they could hardly believe what they were saying.

"Brain the size of a knat, and all the charm of one too."

"By the lameness of that retort, the intelligence too."

Willy used Wonka's thick, bulky robe to pull him down; Wonka tugged on Willy's oversized braces.

"Weirdo Willy," said Wonka.

"Willy Wanker," said Willy.

"Brace face," said Wonka.

"Loser," said Willy.

"Loner," said Wonka.

"Mama didn't want you," said Willy.

"Papa didn't love you, "said Wonka.

Even as they said the words, it hurt them. Faces clenched with pain, as they pinched, slapped, pulled. Hurt them terribly, and yet they said them anyway, every name they'd ever been called, taunted, pinched, pulled, slapped, abused with.

With a voice that could be Willy, or Wonka, or both, "Nobody will ever love you!"

During this, the crowd had begun to boo and hiss and grumble. They stamped their feet and threw invisible popcorn bags and cans of coke and now they walked out, leaving a silence deeper than the ocean. It was so silent Charlie begun to wonder if there really had ever been an audience. If this weren't just an empty stadium with make-believe commentators, and one man, going around in circles. Wonka and Willy seemed to be stuck in a loop, a record player repeating itself, hitting a wall, the same wall every time, which there is no going round.

Even now, starting up again;

"I don't believe you."

"Believe it."

"Nuh-uhh."

"Yuh-uhh."

And was it just Charlie, or was the scoreboard hanging at a slant? And were the seats always covered in dust? And were the bleachers always, from decay, cracked and crumbled, turning into ash? Since when had the stadium stopped being a stadium and become the Castle of Illusions, refracting like diamonds the fragile light of the moon? Or had these things been there all along, but being inside the castle- not, as Willy had incorrectly assumed, out—these things were naturally hidden, distorted, changed, by a hall of mirrors?

The ludicrousness of the fight, hidden by the pomp, the glamour, the Wonka-showmanship, became crystal clear. Just one man, alone, beating himself up.

Of course Willy couldn't help him. When we become trapped in glass castles of our own making, how has it ever been possible that we should be able to help ourselves?

Charlie climbed up into the ring, slipping through the ropes. He approached the kicking, scratching mess that was Willy and Wonka and said, "Stop it! This is pointless. It's not going anywhere." When they didn't stop, didn't even see to hear him, he forced himself between them, trying to prise them apart. But Willy and Wonka didn't even feel him; they kept on fighting. "Stop it! _Stop it!"_ said Charlie. They kept fighting, even when Charlie was in the middle of them and one of them, Willy or Wonka, it doesn't matter which, hit Charlie in the face, hard.

"Mr Wonka, stop! You're hurting me!"

Immediately, Wonka flinched back. Willy stood stock still, horrified. Charlie's lip was split.

"I promised I'd never hurt you," said Wonka.

"And yet I did," said Willy.

"Despite my best intentions," said Wonka. (Strangely now, their voices had begun to sound similar.)

"My boy, I'm sorry," said Willy. (Stranger, how they had begun to even resemble one another, so that Charlie struggled to tell them apart.)

"I'm so sorry," whispered Willy Wonka, and then the lights went out.

**To be continued...**

* * *

><p><strong>In the next chapter; <strong>Wonka films the scene he edited out of his autobiography for a live television audience. His hard head requires something stronger than a hammer and Charlie is driven to desperate measures to make his mentor see sense.

**Notes**; Do you know how dodgy that scene where Charlie blows the conch was to write? I had to phrase it very carefully because it kept coming out as _Charlie put Willy to his lips and blew. _*smacks head* This isn't that kind of story!

I imagined Wonka's last line delivered just like when he announces he's closing his factory.

When I was writing Willy and Wonka fighting over who was Charlie's friend I was so tempted to have Charlie rush in and say, "Please don't fight; you can both marry me!" in Grandpa Simpson style.

…Suffice to say I behaved myself. (I was _sorely_ tempted though.)


	26. Chapter 26

_Chapter 26- The Key to his Heart_

This was a darkness darker than night. There were no stars, no constellations to follow. Someone had taken the north star between their fingers, and snuffed it out like a lamp. This was a darkness that was penetrating, that got into your bones. Wormed its way like black oozing tar into your heart, and in the dark, made you see things that were not there. This was the darkness that filled the smallest and most intimate part of Willy Wonka's soul.

Charlie was disorientated. The dark was such that he did not know left from right, whether he was standing on his head was standing on his head or on his heels. He kept seeing strange things unfolding in the corner of his eyes, monsters expanding like the spiral of starburst. Cold hands kept brushing his neck and shoulders like the softest of kisses.

"Mr Wonka?" he called, stumbling forward, his hands in front of him. "Mr Wonka, where are you?" The dark was so intense, so piercing, without a single shred of starlight that he began to fear that it has swallowed Wonka. "_Mr Wonka_!"

But then, quietly at first, louder as Charlie followed the sound like Ariadne's string, he heard someone singing.

"Tra la-la-la-la-lee/

I'm as happy as can be!"

The song was bouncing and lilting, yet so soft and sad it brought tears to Charlie's eyes. As Charlie drew closer to the song, his fingers reaching out for the familiar voice, it grew softer and sadder, dropping to a whisper.

"Tra la-la-la-la-lee/

Nobody could be as happy as me!"

Charlie's hands closed around something. Like a blind man, he felt it out; the contours of a jaw, the ridge of a nose, cheek bones, the sunken sockets of eyelids, the unexpected softness of lips.

A face.

When it came down to it, what a strange thing a face was.

He whispered, "Mr Wonka, is that you?"

His hands still cupped around his jaw, he felt the vibration of speech twang through Wonka, as he said, "Yeah, it's me."

The silence deep, ancient and terrible as the ocean. When Charlie spoke, he parted the Red Sea.

He asked, "Where's Willy?"

"Inside me," Wonka said. "Always was, actually. You can't just peel off the more unpleasant parts of yourself and stick labels on 'em. All this time, I was just kidding myself." Slow breathing, sounding in the dark like the crash of waves. "There were many things I forgot. Or made myself forget. Like a conscience, for one thing. But being a child again really beat that back into me. Literally." Wonka chuckled, and he vibrated under Charlie like a cello string. "They say best friends have the best fights, but having a fight with yourself really takes the biscuit, doesn't it?"

Silence. Silence so deep and powerful it threatened to erase their small existences. Charlie held onto Wonka, tightly.

He said, "Why are we sitting in the dark like this, Mr Wonka?"

"Because this is the scene I cut from my autobiography and it's supposed to represent my darkest hour. Very symbolic and snazzy, right?"

A long silence, and then Charlie said, "I'm very impressed, Mr Wonka, but I don't really think this is the time to show off."

"Too true, too true," said Wonka, immediately businesslike. "Right, let's get it over with then, shall we? Final act, folks. Take one. Rolling!"

When they clicked on, the stage lights were so bright Charlie was blinded. For a second, he couldn't even see. When his eyes adjusted, he saw that the stadium and the castle were gone. They were in Wonka's room, except the room was a set, with two walls, no ceiling, spotlights and cameras pointing at them from all directions. Wonka was sat on the bed, still singing his songs. But when Charlie looked back down at the man, he flinched away, horrified.

"Good idea," said Wonka seriously. "You'd get blood all over you."

Wonka, whistling, was cheerfully slitting his wrists.

"Will you still need me, will you still feed me/

When I'm sixty-four?" he sung.

It was the same knife from the museum in his hand, not that Charlie, aghast, would have noticed. Wonka was slitting his wrists, as cool and casual as you'd be slicing up vegetables.

"Mr Wonka!" Charlie cried. "What do you think you're doing?"

Wonka looked up and smiled.

"Oh, it's alright; this isn't actually happening now, my boy. Just a flashback. Have 'em all the time."

"What do you mean its not happening now?" Charlie said, his voice quaking. But not with fear; his whole body was shaking with anger. "Of course it's happening now. You're doing it!"

"Doodle-um doodle-dee

Pretty little lass in the morning

Won't you marry me?"

Then—"Don't worry you little cotton socks. We're just recording the events of three years ago for a live television audience, that's all." He stopping cutting himself for a minute to explain to Charlie; "Ya see, the audience has left on a cliff-hanger for twenty-six episodes as to why the Wonka character tried to kill himself. So, this lil piece of exposition here fills 'em in—"

"Mr Wonka, what are you talking about? You're not a character. This is real life. You're killing yourself—"

Calmly, continuing, speaking a little louder over Charlie, "So you see, it turns out Wonka had ended up losing touch with reality—"

"Mr Wonka, please—"

"You see this older scar, here?" A thin, ridged line, old and faded. "That was his first attempt. Shortly after his workers betrayed him and he threw them all our of the factory. He'd lost everything, you see. Even candy tasted awful—and well, ya know, when candy tastes bad you know its time to end it. But, thankfully for the viewers out there, he chickened out half way through. Remembered he hadn't finished working on the sour gum balls and marched off downstairs to the inventing room without even stopping to get a bandage and passed out half-way through the first batch. Lucky he fudged the job so badly. Decided he just needed a holiday. Management stress, y'know? Gets you down. So he dug a thousand leagues under the factory and found Loompa-Land. Found the Oompa-Loompas, rest is history. The end. Finito!"

A pause, and, "So then the viewers out there are asking, why did he attempt it again? With his Oompa-Loompa companions, surely he was happy? After being betrayed so many times, he'd still found the courage to let others in. Huzzah! Hurray!" He demonstrated this story with vigorous gestures. A talented storyteller, even with his own. Charlie stood, begging with his eyes for Wonka to stop, his lip trembling. "Except," said Wonka, slower now, as if horrified by his own tale, hands settling down into his lap, "he didn't. He didn't let anyone in. Instead, he isolated the Oompa-Loompas with him. Treated them as workers, not companions. When they got to close, rebuffed them. All too soon he was back where he started. Wouldn't even admit he was lonely. Was so gosh-darn stubborn he wouldn't even admit it to _himself._ Doris knew something was wrong; the crippling flash-backs were a teensy give-away. She arranged counselling but he wouldn't go. When she tired to help him he found her obnoxious, overbearing. When she pushed harder, he retreated into himself. Then, one day…" his brow furrowed, puzzled by something. "It was nothing in particular, actually. Started out like any other day. Was working on the super-stretch gum. You shudda seen it; at its full length you could stretch it from London to Cornwall! Didn't, uh, actually used to mind chewing gum then."

Now he was coming to the heart of his story, he seemed to forget, briefly, it wasn't someone else he was talking about. Briefly puzzled, he continued more strongly; "But even if he wouldn't admit what he felt, he still felt it, and about that time all his candy started going wrong. First the gum wasn't the right density; didn't stretch enough; stretched too far and filled up the whole factory and came out the chimneys. Coupla' batches came out as a yellowish goo. Couple more had to be disposed as biohazards and got rid of rather discreetly. Things got worse. Ya know, don't even ask me how but the silly bugger managed to stick himself to the ceiling with it. Stuff was thicker than industrial glue. Had a dozen Oompa-Loompa's up there with bolt clippers and blow torches, but it didn't touch the stuff. Had a close shave with the chain saw but we had to stop after Bob almost lobotomised me with it. Darn stuff ruined my swanky velvet hipsters and lace shirt with crushed cravat. And you know what gum is like. Once ya get it in your hair, it ain't coming out." Wonka touched his silky locks, cringing from his memory. Without even noticing, his 'he's' had become 'I's' now.

"It was awful," he said quietly. "They couldn't cut the stuff out, so they cut me out. Cut chunks out of my hair, sliced up my hipsters. _Ruined_ my favourite day-glo moon boots." He put his head in his hands. For a minute, Charlie thought he was going to cry over the loss of his velvet hipsters, already forming the words, 'I'm sure they were very fabulous Mr Wonka, but it isn't the end of the world—' when he stopped, remembered that one of the hundred and one things Wonka hated, at the top of his list, was that anyone should see even a slice of his bare skin.

"Afterwards," his voice even softer now, no more than a whisper, "I went back to my room, but I kept having the most stupid ideas. Like, ear-wax flavoured gobstoppers, or candy worms that dig up your front garden, or edible eyelashes you can eat at the end of the night out. I mean, seriously, edible eyelashes? Who would come up with an idea as stupid as that? Ha!" But even the 'ha!' was soft and quiet, like a small, trembling animal. "But I couldn't stop thinking them, all these stupid idea. It seemed to me that I'd used all my good ideas, that all I had left were stupid ones. And then, I got another stupid idea." He ran his thumb down over the blade in his lap. "And like the other ideas, I couldn't stop thinking it. Nothing else mattered, not my factory, the Oompa-Loompas, nothing. A minute before it meant everything to me, but at that moment, it didn't seem worth a dime. And then, without thinking about it- _but also having thought it through my whole life, never admitting it_—I did it. Just like this—"

Wrapping his hand around the handle, whistling again, he went for the other wrist—

-When Charlie pitched forward like a baseball player, snatched the knife from him, and threw it, soaring, across the room.

"You idiot!" Charlie said. He was trembling, all over. Hot tears ran down his cheeks. "Idiot! Idiot! How could you do this to yourself? Don't you know what you're doing? Doing you know what I would do… if you… if you ever…"

His words, hot and shaking, fell off. What he felt for the man was too potent, too painful, to be contained in mere things such as words. Wonka sat, looking mildly stunned, to stare up at Charlie with wide clear eyes.

"My dear boy," he said, "I appreciate the sentiment, I really do. But as I've explained, this isn't happening now. Also, you're in my shot."

He turned round on the bed and clapped his hands, like he was turning on a light. "Alright guys, take two!" When nothing happened, he clapped again, expecting a response he didn't get. The rules of his world were beginning to crumble. Grumbling, he got up to fetch the knife himself. But before he could, Charlie saw what he was doing and dived for it, holding it behind his back.

"Now Charlie," Wonka said, "you really are being unreasonable. You don't understand—" His hands out displaying his palms, like he was trying to put at ease a distressed animal, Wonka approached on Charlie. Charlie stepped back, bumping up against the table.

"No. You don't understand—what something like this does to the people who care about you—what it's doing."

Wonka was beginning to get irritated. "I won't say this again Charlie—"

He snatched at the boy's hand, but Charlie ducked underneath his arm. He scrambled over the bed and put it between them. They looked at one another from either side. A stand off.

"For marshmallow's sake," said Wonka. "Do we really need to do this all night? Take three!" But again, nothing happened. Confused; "I said, take three!" He stamped his foot; "Take three!"

He caught Charlie's eye, and quite suddenly, lunged for him across the bed. Charlie simply stepped back. When he tried to come at him from around the side, Charlie moved round and put it between them again. Wonka feinted one side and went the other, but Charlie, quietly, lips pressed together tightly, was watching him intently.

Quite abruptly, Wonka fell down on the bed. He put his head in his hands. "What I am I doing?" he asked, aggrieved. "You're right; this is stupid. Another stupid idea. What I am…?"

Charlie approached with caution. Just like they'd had a game of tag, he said, "Do you give up?"

Wonka nodded, repentant. Charlie came closer, to sit beside him.

But when Charlie was within his reach, he grabbed him and threw the boy down onto the bed. Winded, the springs shrieking, Charlie realised he was on his back. For a moment, the world seemed to pause. For a moment, he seemed to step back from reality, to become an observer. He saw himself with his arms pinned down by his head. Wonka leant over him with such long arms and legs he was like some kind of mantis, trying to pry the knife from his hand. Their faces close together, Wonka's teeth gritted tightly, his eyes were alight with a desperation that was akin to madness. It was so ludicrous that for a moment Charlie could only lie there, his eyes blank and stunned, watching.

Through his clenched teeth, Wonka said, "Charlie—don't- make this – so – difficult!"

Charlie felt Wonka scrabbling at his hand, trying to prise his fingers open, and his consciousness sprang back to him. He clenched his hand tighter, so tight his nails dug into his skin. He tried to twist out from underneath him, but the man's grip on his wrists was iron tight; he'd never realised he was so strong. And Charlie had never felt more helpless. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, willing it all to go away.

Surely, this was all just a bad dream.

Wonka had the knife half out of his hand, Charlie clinging on with the very ends of his fingertips. Wonka's face was victorious, wild, and mad. But- but—

His legs! They were free. He kicked out, catching Wonka in the chest. He toppled back. Charlie quickly shuffled to the backboard of the king-sized bed. The two of them faced one another, panting. It was hard to say who looked the more vulnerable.

Then Charlie made a decision. There was only one way he could make Wonka see sense. He rolled back the sleeve of his jumper and put the knife to his own wrist.

"Uh, Charlie—what do you think you're doing?" Wonka's voice he kept calm and controlled, but his eyes were wide and panicked.

"Don't worry. This isn't real," said Charlie, in his best imitation. "It's not happening now."

"Charlie," said Wonka. "Don't."

"I mean," still, the Wonka imitation, a little hysterical, "it's not like anyone's going to miss me when I'm gone!"

"Please, Charlie. Don't—" Pleading now.

"I mean, who would care about—" He prepared himself, grimacing. This was really going to hu—

Wonka's hand closed over his. "Charlie," he said, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Something warm dropped onto Charlie's hand. He looked up, startled. Wonka was crying. He cried in funny little hiccups, like laughter, and the tears pooled under his eyes and dripped off the end of his nose. "You're right. I've been—an idiot," he said, between hiccups. "Forgive me."

Leaning onto his knees, Charlie embraced him. "Of course," he said. Wonka clasped him back, embraced him so hard he squeezed the air from the boy's lungs. Charlie didn't care; he wanted him to hold him tighter.

"I'm sorry, my boy. I keep making the same mistakes, over and over. I never learn."

"It doesn't matter," said Charlie, his face buried in Wonka's shoulder.

"It does," said Wonka. "I've done some awful things Charlie. I don't think you're gonna be able to forgive me."

Charlie said again, quite firm, "It doesn't matter." To him, it really didn't. He had come to find Wonka and he had found him. All the things he had seen and wondered over were erased in the space of a single embrace.

Wonka began to grow agitated. "But it does! And I've got to tell ya." He forced himself to pull back from the boy, to untangle their fingers from where they laid together. He didn't want to, but he had to put some distance between them. Wonka was not a fair man, but he wanted to be fair to Charlie.

He slid off the end of the bed and crossed over to the chest-of-draws. Opening a draw, he pulled out the familiar, beautifully-embossed diary.

"I've seen that," said Charlie. "There's nothing in it."

Wonka put the diary on the chest-of draws and opened it. Inside, it had been hollowed out, the same trick used by sneaky inmates to smuggle in secret items. Inside the hollow lay a small, battered diary. The binding had come loose and it looked very fragile. Wonka put it into Charlie's hands. He examined it.

"It's locked," he said.

"Look in yer pocket."

Charlie fished around his his trouser pocket. Inside was a marble, paperclips, and, one tiny silver key. Tied to it was a label. It read;

_To his heart_

"But how come I have this?" said Charlie.

Wonka coughed. He seemed rather embarrassed. "Well, ya know what I'm like with losing things. I thought you'd take better care of it than me."

He strode across the room. "Go ahead and read it," he said, perching on a seat across from the bed. He crossed his legs and sat with his fingers pressed together in his lap.

The diary was no bigger than Charlie's palm. He unlocked it with a click, and opened it carefully. The pages, parchment, not paper, were as yellowed as yolk. He turned to the page entitled Chapter One and began to read in his head.

"Aloud," Wonka requested, adding gently, "Please." There was a strain in his perfectly composed voice as he said, "I have to hear it."

Charlie began to read.

"Once upon a time, there was a man who lived in a factory on the top of the hill, and he was very lonely." He looked up questioningly at Wonka, but the man was staring at his interlaced fingers. He continued; "He was a greatly respected chocolatier who had the power of magic at his fingertips, and yet, was deeply unhappy. This was because for most of his life, he had been alone. What he longed for most was a companion, someone who he could share his secrets with. Therefore one day he held a great competition, the winner of which would move in with him and become his apprentice. He chose a young boy who was both honest and good, and despite the cruel, cold world had kept his purity cupped like a candle in his hands. The man was happier than he had ever been, but too soon this happiness turned to pain. He had fallen in love with the boy; however, in the world they lived in this was taboo. He knew that the chance they had at happiness was very slim and instead carried his love like a hidden handkerchief tucked away in his pocket. But the boy also harboured feelings for his mentor. He was very young, and such large feelings were hard to keep contained in his small young heart. They filled him like a cup to the very brim and in the end, he must confess before he overflowed. Joyfully, they embraced. Together they decided this fragile love of theirs must be protected, kept very small and secret so that no one else could harm it.

"However, the man was not always a very nice man. He could be jealous and angry and cruel. The best part about him was the love he had for the boy, and he threatened to destroy it himself. He had buried his past with a spade in the back garden but had only grown flaws instead of flowers. He wanted to know every single inch of the boy he had fallen in love with, but refused to impart of his own secrets to him. He had not set his past to rest, only covered it over. Now, he was afraid of digging it up, because in truth, he was frightened of what might have taken root there.

"But then came the day when the sphere of destiny and the wheel of fortune reached alignment. The man's karma for his bad deeds had caught up with him. He hung between life and death, to face his actions and plead forgiveness for his crimes. Because he had... "

The book closed with a snap. Wonka broke out of his reverie to see Charlie sitting calmly, his hands folded over the diary.

He said, "Why did ya stop?"

Charlie said, "Don't you know? It's rude to read someone else's diary."

"But I'm giving you permission. Haven't you always wanted to know about my past?"

"Yes, but..." The boy slipped from the bed and came towards him. "I want you to tell me, in your own time. Not because you feel like you have to."

"But-"

Charlie put his finger to Wonka's lips. "But you can tell me, when you wake up." The boy had never acted so assertively before, and he knew it. He blushed a little, and slid into his mentor's lap.

"When I wake up?"

"When you wake up," said Charlie. He reached up, to cup Wonka's face in the curve of his palm.

"Then I'm dreaming?"

Someone, somewhere, had said those words before.

_I'm glad I fell asleep here. If I didn't, I might have thought that last night was a dream. But it wasn't, was it?_

Wonka wrapped his fingers round Charlie's hand. Skin against skin. How nice it felt, a feeling he'd almost forgotten, the warmth of another's hand.

He'd forgotten so much. Suddenly, it all rushed back to him. Loompa-land. The crystal heart. The hornswoggler. Everyone was waiting for him.

"Yes. And you need to wake up."

Shock, as cold as ice. Charlie had leant forward, and was kissing the scars on his wrist. He did it with an incredible tenderness, the slightest touch, like butterfly kisses. Lifted his lips, so that at last, like a spell, Willy Wonka woke with a kiss.

**To be continued...**


	27. Chapter 27

_Chapter 27- Meanwhile, at the Buckets..._

The date of Charlie's return had been postponed enough that it was becoming ridiculous. One day stretched into two, which became three. The Buckets were plied with excuses from the Oompa-Loompas. Either they were dealing with a diplomatic meltdown in Loompa Land, shooting off on an urgent mission to Mars, or, in the best excuse yet, left a turkey in the oven.

Presents laid unopened under the tree. The Christmas pudding was left untouched. After all, they could hardly celebrate without Charlie.

The excuses got feebler as they inched towards the new year. When Mrs Bucket was told point blank that Charlie couldn't come home because the dog at his homework, she knew enough was enough.

The creaking study door opened with a crash. Red-faced and panting from the seventeen flights of stairs, Mrs Bucket stood in the door frame with her hands on her hips. She demanded, "Willy, where is my son? I'm sick of these games. I..."

Until she noticed that it was not Wonka who was sat at his desk but a little Oompa-Loompa woman, gazing at her quizzically over her spectacles, eyebrows lost in her hair.

Doris said, "I beg your pardon?"

"Oh," said Mrs Bucket. Her hands dropped from her hips. Her shoulders slumped. She had spent half hour riling herself up for this confrontation, had spent much longer getting lost in the factory, and now, was momentarily at a loss. "Who are you?" she asked.

Doris took off her glasses and laid them on the desk. "My name is Doris. I'm Willy's secretary."

"I'm-"

"I know who you are, Mrs Bucket," said Doris.

"Right. Of course." The silence stretched on lamely, before Mrs Bucket took charge. She took a decisive stride forward. "If you're Willy's secretary, can you tell me where he is? We've had excuse after excuse but I _know_ something's wrong. Charlie would never go to _Mars _without telling us."

"Hum. Yes. To be honest I didn't think we'd be able to keep you in the dark much longer," Doris said, apparently to herself, or to the ceiling fan. As Mrs Bucket opened her mouth indignantly, Doris interrupted her. "Take a seat Mrs Bucket. I promise I'll tell you what's really been going on."

Mrs Bucket sat rather curtly. "So I should think," she said.

"As you've probably deduced, your son is still in Loompa Land."

"I did imagine so. But what's happened? Why haven't they come back yet? He- he hasn't been eaten by a hornswashler, or- or a banderpanda, or something, has he?" Her fingers clenched tight around her kneecaps. She had told herself she would keep calm, but she couldn't help it; her eyes started to fill with tears.

"Here. Have a kleenex," said Doris. She stood up on her chair to offer her a tissue. Mrs Bucket batted her hand away. She stood, banging her hands flat on the table. "I don't want a bloody kleenex. I want to know what's happened to my son."

Doris did not jump, or even flinch at this behaviour. Instead, she offered Mrs Bucket a wry smile. "If you'd sit down, Mrs Bucket, I was about to get to that part."

All the anger seemed to drain out of Mrs Bucket in an instant. She flopped, as though exhausted, into the armchair. She said quietly, "I'm sorry. I know this isn't your fault. I've been all over the place since Charlie left." Then, sniffing, she asked, "Could I possibly have that tissue after all?"

Passing her an understanding look, Doris handed her the tissue. She blew her nose like a trumpet.

"Alright now?" Doris asked.

Mrs Bucket said, "Please, just tell me."

"It's Willy. He managed to get himself stung by a hornswoggler. He's very sick."

"Stung by... a hornswashler?"

"Close enough. He's been looked after at the village. I wanted to bring him up to the factory so we could give proper medical treatment, but the Chief refuses to let him be moved." All this time Doris had kept her face fixed with a professional stiffness. For the first time, agitation fluttered across like embers.

"My goodness! Poor Willy! Will he be alright?"

"The antidote has been administered. It's whether or not he takes to it. He's a kind of delirious coma at the moment."

Mrs Bucket thought Doris looked how she felt. Her shoulders were slumped. There were bags under her eyes. She looked stretched out, worn out. She said, "You know, I've never heard any of Willy's workers address him by his Christian name before."

Her eyes fixed, glazed, on a pencil pot, Doris said, "We've known each other a long time. Too long, really."

Mrs Bucket hesitated, and offered Doris a tissue.

Doris shook her head, mouth drawn into a tight, unhappy smile. "I don't cry, Mrs Bucket."

"Not ever?"

"Not ever."

Doris coughed. She drew herself up. Said, "Of course, the People at the village are full of mumbo jumbo about what's going on. Back when the village was whole, purposely taking hornswoggler poison was a rite of passage. Anyone who survived was granted shaman status. And let me tell you, that wasn't many. It was a fairly idiotic rite of passage because it killed off half our men. But as well as being deadly, hornswoggler poison is compositionally quite similar to opium, so that everyone who took the rite thought they were having a 'transcendental experience' when they were really just hallucinating. Which is bad for us, because there's no way the Elder's going to let us move Willy when they think he's achieving 'enlightenment.'"

"But you think there's a good chance he'll be alright?"

"Well, there's a chance. And that'll have to be good enough."

Mrs Bucket leant back in her chair. "Good God," she said, "This makes me feel just awful that I barged in like this. I had no idea."

Mrs Bucket felt a twang of guilt. She knew it shouldn't, but the fact that it was Willy who was hurt, and not Charlie, was a huge relief to her. The idea of Charlie hurt was terrifying. With Willy, it was simply puzzling. In two years, she'd never seen him hurt or sick. He didn't age. Just like the rest of the Buckets, she'd started to, unconsciously, think of him as immortal.

"I wouldn't start feeling bad yet if I were you. I haven't told you about Charlie yet."

As though it was a codeword, Mrs Bucket snapped up straight. "Charlie? Isn't he just looking after Willy?"

"The other part of the rite I haven't mentioned is that, if the recipient is struggling, supposedly because they're fighting their inner demons, their mate can be cast into a similar dream state to aid him. That's what Charlie has done."

Mrs brow creased. "But... a 'mate'..."

"Or a sibling. Even a friend," Doris said very quickly.

Mrs Bucket struggled to take in the implications of this. "So Charlie is..."

"The idea is, Charlie retrieves Willy's soul and brings him back to the waking world. Either that, or neither of them return."

The desolate ticking of the clock, thrumming like a heartbeat.

"Of course, this is all just superstition!" said Doris. "I image he's just come down with a jungle virus. We're sending some of our best doctors to the village now."

"I want to go see him."

"Impossible, Mrs Bucket. It's far too dangerous. Willy would never forgive me if I let you go."

Mrs Bucket retorted, "If it'd be too dangerous for me, why ever did he take Charlie. He's _twelve_."

With a fwick! Doris shuffled through a stack of paperwork on her desk. "A good question. I suggest you ask him yourself, when- or if- he gets back. Now I'm sorry, but the factory won't run itself. And-"

"Is that why you came back?" Mrs Bucket asked, point blank.

Doris hesitated. Put the papers down on the desk. Said, with great effort; "That, and, I couldn't bare to spend another day watching him like that."

Silence. "Maybe you should," said Mrs Bucket.

"Come again?"

"Cry, I mean. I know I will, when I get home."

A beat.

"Thanks for the advice," Doris said wryly, twirling her pen between her fingers.

Mrs Bucket stood, headed towards the door. Turned in the doorway. "So you'll definitely keep us updated?" she said.

"Certainly. Everyday." Doris pulled the paperwork towards her.

Smiling sadly, Mrs Bucket said, "I'm glad we finally met. I was worried about Willy, you know. About him being alone. But I'm glad he's got someone special after all."

Doris stared.

"I think you've got-"

"Oh! Don't worry. I won't say anything. Willy's a private man and I respect that. At any rate, there are more important things to think about at the moment, aren't there?"

"Right," said Doris, dumb-founded. Mrs Bucket closed the door. Doris turned back to the paperwork. Then she laughed. Then she cried.

* * *

><p>Telling her family what had happened to Willy and Charlie was not the most fun thing Mrs Bucket had ever done. She closed her and Mr Bucket's bedroom door with a sigh. "Mum's still a bit shaky," she said. "I think it was just such a huge shock."<p>

Mr Bucket sat on the edge of their bed, his jaw hard. He stared at a fixed spot on the ground.

Starting to make a move towards him, Mrs Bucket hesitated. With everything else that was going on, she'd forgotten. Ever since the row about Charlie going to Loompa Land,the two of them had been bickering. About stupid, little things, that sounded big only in your head, and evaporated, became insubstantial as soon as they left your mouth. She fingered her wedding ring. She and her husband were like any other couple. They argued sometimes. They annoyed each other sometimes. They always made up.

But not like this. Not this cold detachment. Blazing rows she could stand. Their rows were only so heated because of the passion they had for one another. But this iciness.. she couldn't stand it.

It must be because Charlie wasn't here. He was the heart of their family, and it had been ripped away from them. As she thought this, a feeling started to grow in her, a tightness in her heart, like a premonition. It seized her completely. Like one day they'd lose Charlie- like-

"Mrs Bucket?" Her husband was gazing up at her in concern.

The feeling slipped away from her as easily as it came. She slid into Mr Bucket's surprised arms. "Well, Mr Bucket," she said, "don't you intend on comforting me?"

They locked eyes. An apology slipped between them. It didn't need to be said aloud.

"Betty," said Mr Bucket, taking her embrace from her like a delicate flower.

* * *

><p>The Chocolate Room was dark when Mrs Bucket woke. Mr Bucket's warm breath was on her neck. She untangled himself from him and slid into her slippers.<p>

A fake, full moon hung in the room like yellow cheese. She could hear the gurgle of the chocolate waterfall. The low chirping of the chocolate birds, chiming out the first notes of a chocolate dawn chorus.

A peaceful night, yet it felt all wrong without the note of Charlie's snuffly-snuffly sleep breathing.

Mrs Bucket headed back inside the house, moved quietly past her snoring parents and in-laws. She looked up at the rickety ladder to Charlie's room. Then, she began to climb.

Clicking on the lamp, she sat down on her son's groaning bed. She frowned. They needed to get Charlie a new bed. It was just like him not to say anything. Even after all this time, he never asked for anything. She laid her head down on his pillow. It smelled like him; fresh air, sunshine.

Outside, the light crept in like an invader. Reluctantly, Mrs Bucket got up. The springs creaked. She wiped the tears from her eyes, rearranged her hair. She tried to think of the practicalities of the day. Straightened Charlie's sheets, tidied up the scraps of paper that had missed the waste bin.

She paused. It was one of those moments, when you've read something, instantly forgot where. The bookcase? His desk? She picked back out the scraps of paper from the bin and found it. She shook her head, read it over again. Then she sat heavily on the bed.

_To anyone who's listening, _

_I think I'm about to make the biggest mistake in my life, but it's a mistake I have to make. I'll die otherwise. Please help me tell him how I feel, and please, please don't let him hate me too much. _

_Charlie_

Everything clicked into place like the final piece in a puzzle. She understood now. Suddenly, Charlie's odd behaviour these last few weeks made sense.

**To be continued.**

* * *

><p><strong>PS; <strong>If you recall, the note was one Charlie wrote in chapter 15 when he was feeling particularly melodramatic.

Oh, and because I was writing this and my one-shot around the same time, certain elements wound their way into both. I just wanted to mention although I called both Mrs Bucket's Betty, they're not the same woman. I just think the name Betty really suits Mrs B.


	28. Chapter 28

_Chapter 28- Deeper Magic_

"_It means," said Aslan, "that though the Witch knew the Deep Magic, there was a magic deeper she did not know. Her knowledge goes back only to the dawn of time. But if she could have looked a little further back, into the stillness before Time dawned, she would have read there a different incantation."_

Charlie yawned and rolled over, and felt a sleepy sense of confusion when his hand didn't meet his bedroom wall.

_Huh?_

When it occurred to him that part of the problem was, he couldn't feel his hand either.

Panic seized him in a tight grip. It was like his whole body had gone numb. He couldn't feel anything! He couldn't even take a deep breath to calm down.

He counted from one to ten in his head, and started to list off his body parts one by one.

_Head shoulders knees and toes. _He'd been sleeping for so long he'd almost forgot he had knees, head, mouth or toes.

_Eyes ears mouth and nose. _

A nose! A nose! A kingdom for a nose. Charlie pieced himself back together, connected the dots, put himself in order.

_The thigh bone connected to the knee bone the leg bone connected to the leg bone the leg bone connected to the-_

Connected to what? It had been far too long since he last moved thigh bone, leg bone, or any other bone besides.

It returned to him; the sensation of an arm, the sensation of a leg. And they _stung_. As though he was out in the cold for too long, and now, was slowly defrosting.

Not just stung. They burned. As though fire was running through his veins, searing away the ice. He couldn't even cry out.

Then the feeling started to fade away. First from the tips of his fingers, the ends of his toes.

He twitched his nose.

Wriggled his toes.

Clenched his fingers.

And with a great "Huuuuuuuoooouuuaaaaahaaa!" of a yawn, Charlie awoke.

He stared up at the mud tatatat of the hut ceiling. He felt fine. Better than fine, actually. He felt as though he'd just had the best sleep in years.

He sat up, to find Wonka doing the same just inches beside him. He had white powder in his hair, and an icicle dripping from his nose. He looked vaguely startled.

Charlie burst into laughter at the sight of him, before he noticed the icicle suspended from own his nose. He must have looked surprised, or maybe it was his cross-eyed expression, or both, because Wonka exploded into laughter of his own. He threw his head back and broke into guffaws.

"Chief Wonka! You're back." Charlie sat and stared as Wonka was dog piled by a group of excitable Oompa-Loompas from the factory. Wonka was knocked back by the weight of them. He'd never seen them more affectionate. He waited, with bated breath for Wonka to react. To push them away, or turn pale, or-

Instead, Wonka turned his head and laughed, "Stop! Stop that! It tickles."

Charlie felt a tug at his sleeve. A young Oompa-Loompa looked at him with big worried eyes. "Master Charlie, are you okay? You were gone so long we didn't know if you were coming back."

Momentarily distracted from Wonka he asked, "How long?"

"A week, Master Charlie."

A week? He'd been asleep a whole week? It was so strange. He'd spent so long searching for Wonka, when the man had been right next to him all along.

"The hornswoggler? It was seven foot high! And with teeth like this! Scared? Pah! Am I ever?"

Having freed himself from the grip of the Oompa-Loompas, Wonka was sat with them arranged around him, listening eagerly as he chattered.

He smiled at Charlie as he spoke, and though the boy was chilly, he felt sunshine seep up through his toes, till his whole body glowed. Wonka reached out for his hand. It would have felt freezing cold, if they weren't the exact same temperature.

* * *

><p>Flames leapt like golden and crimson fish out of the fire, hissing in the grate. The heavy beat of drums. Overpowering heat. Sweat. The intensity of sweet, strong incense.<p>

"From this night on," the Old Chief's voice, cracking like a whip across the night, "you are reborn. And with a new life, you receive a new name. Rise, Running Tiger."

Wonka stood. He was decorated from head to toe in henna, dressed in grass trousers. Looped over his neck was a number of charms made from brightly coloured beads and polished bone. He was forced to kneel again so he could reach down to shake the Old Chief's finger.

"Gee wiz," he said, "that's going to look good on the letter heads."

The Old Chief chose to ignore this remark. "Charlie Bucket, come and kneel here."

Sat cross-legged at the back with the Oompa-Loompas, Charlie was so surprised he dropped his cocoa juice. What did the Chief want with him? Wonka was the one who was shaman now. But he went and knelt down by the Old Chief anyway.

"The Council has decided to trust you with a new name too, Charlie Bucket. From this day forth, you will be known by all as Wide-Eyed Owl."

Wonka snickered from beside him. The Old Chief spoke over him, aggravation in his voice, "We have entrusted you with this new name, Wide-Eyed Owl, because of your ability to see clearly when others cannot. You, Running Tiger, would do well to learn from him."

But Wonka said quite sincerely, "Oh, I do. Everyday."

The Old Chief drew Charlie's attention back, "Will you accept your new name?"

Charlie hesitated. "Okay, but do my family have to call me Wide-Eyed Owl too? Because that might be kind of weird."

The hut echoed with laughter.

"Your family can call whatever they like, Owl," said the Chief.

The festivities began in earnest then.

That night, the lampgrass bloomed brightly. Torches burned. Many Oompa-Loompas had come down from the factory to celebrate Wonka's return, and for the first time in years, the village was alive with laughter and revelry.

Sat in the Chief's hut with the heat of the flames dancing on his skin beside Wonka, their arms touching, he listened as the man explained the ettiquette of an Oompa-Loompa party.

"I never took ya to one before cuz I'll admit, sometimes they're too much fer me. If you haven't passed out by the end of the night, they get offended cuz they think it means you haven't had a good time."

Apparently, Oompa-Loompas partied hardest. When Wonka laughed, it rumbled through him into Charlie. Although what Mr Wonka was saying was very interesting, he couldn't be more intrigued in how nice it felt when their fire-warmed skin touched.

He still couldn't believe Wonka had managed to dispense with the gloves, the coats, the endless jackets he layered himself in like an onion. But when Charlie brought this up, Wonka just laughed it off; "Little Owl, I fear I've been dreadfully out of fashion for years!"

Wonka continued his explanation; "No one is left out at an Oompa-Loompa party. You gotta move from one hut to another, and try to stop at as many as ya can before the night is over. Ya stay too long, and it's dreadfully rude. Since we're the guests of honour, we're gunna have to try and do all of them."

Charlie nodded. This sounded like it was going to be hard work. He leant in closer to Wonka, but the man wasn't paying attention. Charlie caught an Oompa-Loompa smoking shisha giving him a curious look. He felt paranoid, and pulled away.

"Oh, and one last thing," said Wonka. "If someone asks ya if you're up for a frog shishkabob or a beetle sashimi, the proper way to decline without giving offence is 'Forgive me, but I am not man enough.'"

In the first hut, there was dancing. Children in brightly coloured masks flashed red and orange in the flicker of the fire. This was old Madame Campella's hut, and insistently she kept offering Charlie the cocoa shisha pipe.

"No thanks," said Charlie, pushing it back into her hands. "I still haven't got over the last time."

Just as the two of them were starting to get comfortable, there were cries of, "Move down! Move down! Move down!" and they were shunted out of the hut and across the bridge by little hands, to the accompaniment of bawdy songs, and into the next one.

In the second hut, Elder Hansa gave them a rendition on his bugaloo horn (which sounded awful, like someone slowly being sawed in half. Wonka, however, tapping his foot along, seemed to enjoy it.) Afterwards, he gave a a stuttering, rambling speech about how h-h-happy he was everyone was here. As he puffed at his shisha pipe, it became more rambling, before he asked for a dragonfly kebab and promptly passed out. This was met by rapturous applause, and the elder was carried out at the first casualty of the night.

"Move down! Everyone move down!" they cried.

In the third hut, there was cocoa drinking games.

In the forth, twister.

In the fifth, break dancing.

And in the next one, a surprise visitor turned up. They were greeted again like heroes, plied with drinks. But as Charlie was about to down his forth cocoa juice, Wonka took it from him with a forefinger and thumb.

"I wouldn't if I were you," he said. "You'll end up with the most dreadful hangover tomorrow morning. And I ain't sure your mother would be incredibly pleased wit' me."

Over the last hour, Charlie had lapsed into a pleasant butterscotch state, where there were no troubles in the world. But now, he sat up straight, hand clamped to his mouth in horror.

"Mr Wonka, my parents! We've been gone for over a week. They must think I'm _dead_!"

"Don't worry about a thing," someone from behind said. "I've been giving them regular status reports. They know you're fine."

It was Doris, looking very different in a woven dress and flowers in her hair.

Doris and Wonka's eyes met. Then she glanced down. Her voice was somewhat stiff; "I'm glad you're okay, anyway."

"Thanks," said Wonka. Everything he couldn't say was tucked into the creased of his face. Guilt, in the twist of his frown. Regret, under his brows. But the apology was in his eyes. "You're looking lovely tonight, by the way," he said softly.

"Why Willy, you old charmer." But she didn't look at him as she said this.

Charlie remembered now. The fight in the dream world. Both had been evenly matched, and neither wanted to concede.

Then Wonka exhaled a great sigh, deeper and longer than the ocean. "I mean it," he said. "And, I'm sorry. For worrying you. And, well, for everything. Over the years, we've... I've said a lot of things I didn't mean. I really am sorry, Doris."

She didn't look like she could believe what she was hearing. She looked up, incredulous. "Wherever did this come from?" she asked, scepticism in her voice.

"When I woke up, it was like I was seeing the world clearly, for the first time," Wonka admitted.

Doris looked up into his face, searching. She must have found the truth she was looking for in those purple eyes, because for the first time, she was rendered speechless. "Well... that's... I mean..."

She did the only thing she could do, and dispelled the tension between them with a nervous laugh. "This is a first! Willy Wonka, apologising. That new name must be doing a good job."

But Doris was looking at him in a new light now, curious, and wondering.

Charlie hadn't realised till then that he was holding his breath.

Doris sat and joined them, and Charlie asked about what had been happening in the factory while they were gone.

"Well, your family have been causing a lot of trouble. Your grandfather wanted to start a search party and come down and rescue you, but we wouldn't tell him which button on the elevator to press. He got very antsy about it, and poor Bob got called some awful names you're too young to hear."

"_Grandpa Joe_ did that?" said Charlie.

"No, it was the other one. The grumpy old fart."

"Hold on, Grandpa George got out of _bed_?"

"More like marched out. He wanted to call in the army."

Grandpa George, out of bed!

"Hey," said Wonka, nudging him in the ribs. "Next time I'll get you to go into unarmed combat with a whangdoodle and we'll see if we can't get those two old ladies out of bed too."

"Well," Charlie reflected, "they did get out when we visited the Space Hotel USA..."

"Yes, but this time they've gotta try it under their own gravity," Wonka said curtly.

They were moved along before they could talk any more, and they lost Doris for several huts. By the time they bumped into one another again, Doris had had rather more tot drink and was beaming from ear to ear.

"I forgot how fun an old-fashioned party was," she said. She winked at Charlie and whispered, "At the factory, everyone is into these silly little martini's with bits of fruit floating in them. And they spent all night on this dumb old karaoke machine."

"Hey!" said Wonka with a pout. "I thought you said you liked the karaoke machine." Evidently, he had been behind the purchase.

"Yeah, but that was before Sengal got into singing Celine Dion every night."

A group of Oompa-Loompas had spent this time trying to construct a giant Oompa-Loompa tower. The tower started to wobble, and they fell everywhere, laughing.

"Hey, you know everyone is expecting a rendition of what happened when you were asleep, don't you?" Doris said.

"Later," Wonka said, crunching on cocoa beans. "I'm letting my hair down." And to demonstrate, he swished it with his hand. He said this with a pointedness and raised eyebrow Charlie didn't quite understand. "There a lot of handsome fellas here tonight. Maybe you should start thinking about that too."

Was it just a trick of the light, or did Charlie catch the slightest shadow of a blush on Doris's cheek?

She said, loudly, "Well if that isn't Sasha over there! Sorry boys, must dash!"

Charlie was thoroughly puzzled.

Wonka leant over to explain, whispering into his ear, "Loompa women don't put their hair down, not once, until they meet their mate." Wonka's warm breath was ticklish against his ear. He giggled.

"What's so funny?" asked Wonka.

Charlie smothered his mouth with his hand. Between giggles he managed out, "I don't know. I think it must be all those gosh-darn cocoa beans."

They were ushered in complete silence into the next hut. It was wide, round and empty, and the two of them were seated on mats at the back.

"What's-" began Charlie.

"Shh," said Wonka. He was smiling. "I think we're about to be treated to a bit of a song and a dance."

That was when the drums started.

**Aah...**

**Aaaaaah...**

**Aaaaaaaah!**

**Ooga-booga ooga- booga**

**Oompa- Loompa Oompa- Loompa**

Two Oompa-Loompas ran around the outside of the hut, converging at the centre. They were dressed in Indiana Jones style, and ducked and dived and hacked at invisible undergrowth with the machetes in their hands. One was taller, one much smaller. More of the little people crowded inside, becoming a chorus at the back of the hut. They opened their mouths and sung;

**Smash!**

**Slash!**

**Crashing through the jungle**

**Willy Wonka and his heir**

**made the mistake to lose the trail**

**were caught unaware by a **

**a whangdoodle**

**the size of a hump-backed whale!**

A papermache whangdoodle burst out from the behind the curtains. The Charlie and Wonka Ooompa-Loompas legged it!

**Tearing through the trees!**

**Ripping through the leaves!**

"**Beat it, kid!" cried Willy Wonka**

**and Charlie Bucket didn't dather, not dilly**

**(not that we're accusing him on the acquisition **

**of possessing a lilly liver**

**we ourselves would be scared**

**caught unprepared, snared, by those beastly incisors bared! )**

"**That thing's faster than a monkey on speed!"**

**Willy Wonka did declare**

**The sssssssssssssh-iiing!**

**The screech of metal**

**twelve years old, almost fully grown**

**time to test the child's mettle**

**crashing through the leaves**

**up the branches of the bongbong tree**

**looking down, to see-**

**on his skull, an X,**

**so that, fearlessly-**

**CR-****_UNCH_****!**

**With a wobble**

**(not forgetting a wibble)**

**the whangdoodle quivered**

**(not forgetting wivered)**

**and**

**SM-ASH**

**the machete buried in its brain**

'**twas how the mighty beast was slain. **

The paper mache monster split in half, his front and back running in different directions. Underneath, exposed, dozens of little legs were scampering furiously. Charlie chortled with laugher. As the Ooompa-Loompas joined hands to take a bow, he and Wonka applauded with vigour.

Charlie was starting to feel rather woozy.

"You need to learn your limit," Wonka said gently, removing a cocoa bean before he popped it into his mouth. "You're too young."

"I'm too young for a lot of thingsssssss," Charlie slurred, raising an eyebrow and falling on Wonka in a drunken slobbery kiss.

One of the Oompa-Loompas signalled something that looked a lot like, "Get a room!"

Though everyone was still desperate that they should visit their hut, Wonka took this as a cue to take Charlie outside for some fresh air, and to sober up.

Charlie felt the floor lurch away from him. The creak and rattle of the suspension bridge. The sudden pleasant coolness of the night air. He opened his eyes, to see Wonka was carrying him in his arms. Everything had become sluggish, and strange. He looked up into the soft focus of Wonka's face, and was suddenly gripped by the fear that he never, ever wanted him to let him go. His arms tightened around Wonka's neck.

"Don't let me go," he told him.

But Wonka just chuckled. "I'm not gunna drop ya, I promise."

But that wasn't what Charlie meant.

"I was so scared," he confessed.

"About that name ceremony thing? Yeah, I was too. I wondered what the heck they were gunna give me. I wuz afraid it was going to be something like Purple Peacock, or Flamboyant Butterfly. Right?" His eyes twinkled, but Charlie clutched him with urgently.

"No. I was scared. I really was."

"Charlie I don't know what you're talking about. You're drunk. Oh boy-o, Mama Bucket's going to be-"

"_No._ I love you."

Wonka stopped dead. "It's worse than I thought. We need to get you some coffee or water, pronto."

"I mean it," Charlie said. Why didn't Wonka understand he was serious? He loved him. He'd always loved him. It was just that, before now, he didn't feel able to say it. "When I thought you were hurt, that you were going to die, I..." He didn't mean to, but tears swelled in his eyes. "I was terrified!"

He was embarrassed, and quickly wiped at his eyes. Wonka looked stricken. He sat Charlie down on the bridge and made him drink several cups of water. Their legs dangled off the side. Wonka kept a firm but gentle hand around the boy's waist.

Wonka was silent for a long time, looking out at the shadows the lampgrass threw out through the stencils of the canopy. Behind them, the beat of the drums carried on into the night.

The caww caww of the kuka birds. At last, Willy Wonka turned to him and said, "Are you sure?"

Charlie's head was beginning to clear up now. He nodded. Then, he hesitated. "D-do you?"

"Those are frightening words," Wonka admitted. He stared at his lap.

"Why?" asked Charlie. "Because you don't love-"

"_No_," he said, suddenly firm. "Never because of that. It's because words have power. If you put things into words, they can be taken away."

Charlie was suddenly reminded of Wonka's p-p-parents.

"I find some words... difficult, to say." His voice softened. "You've been in my dreams. Yer know why, now."

"I found out a lot about you there. Things you hadn't told me before. Is... is that okay?"

"I wanted you to know. I wouldn't have let yer in otherwise." Wonka's fingers clenched. A queer inclination invaded his voice. "It was... strange. I remember being in darkness. Absolute, eternal darkness. Like the stars had flickered out of the sky. There was no way out of it. I thought I would die there. And then," his mouth twisted wryly, "I saw you, very far away. I followed you like a beacon, into the carnival. You showed me myself, all of things I didn't want to see, that I'd made myself forget. And I was absolutely ashamed. I thought, I didn't deserve to be forgiven. And then, you forgave me anyway." He put his head in his hand, his arm around Charlie limp. "I forgot so much. Filed it away into separate boxes and... why? For what purpose? Like my mother. I always thought she..."

That strange silvery woman.

"_Willy should really never have been born."_

She might have been his mother, but to tell the truth, Charlie had not liked her very much.

"Was it true what she said?" he asked. "Is she really the moon?"

"I never told ya about my mother, did I?" said Wonka. "She disappeared when I was five years old. Poof! And I never saw her again. I just woke up one morning and she was gone. My father was never the same afterwards."

"And Wilbur Wonka... he was really a magician?"

Wonka grinned weakly. "Hard to believe now, isn't it? As my mother told it, he vanished her straight out of the sky as a parlour trick. My mother was so impressed she married him. Before she left, she taught me many things. I managed to forget most of them."

"Like magic? You can really do magic, Mr Wonka?" He had suspected it since they'd met, but was it really true?

"Party tricks. Illusions," Wonka laughed, but then he cast his eyes up to the crystal stars. "But, I remember it now."

"You remember...?"

"Deep magic."

The words resonated through Charlie like a tuning fork.

"What's...?"

"'The universe exists within the confines of a single, boiled sweet,'" Wonka repeated.

There was a such a heavy gravity to his voice that Charlie said, "I kept hearing that in the dream world. I didn't really understand what it meant though."

"Ya ever had a boiled sweet before?"

"Of course."

"What was it like?" Wonka asked.

"It was... okay. Nothing special."

"Exactly," said Wonka.

"Eh?" Charlie felt like there was something he was missing here.

"It means the that universe exists in everything, even in something as insignificant as a dumb ol' boiled sweet. It's in every leaf, every twig. In you and me. The ocean can be contained in a tiny seashell. And if you listen closely, yer can hear it. The world has a rhythm. A heartbeat, even. And if you can hear it, you can use it, and shape it. Like directing a current."

Then Wonka cleared his throat. He stood, and Charlie stood with him. "It's been a while, so I'm going to need your help. Charlie, it's time for your first true lesson. I want you to hold on tight to me, close your eyes, and listen."

"To what?" Charlie asked. His heart was pounding. Magic? They were going to do real magic?

"To everything," said Wonka.

Charlie took Wonka's hand, and listened.

He heard the shouts and cheers from the party.

He heard bird call. Listening harder, it was not just the cawwing of the kuka birds, but the warbling of the wickwobblers, the sck! sck! Of the sphinxyburdies, the keening eee! Eee! of the dreaded eatyou birds.

He listened harder, and distantly heard the growling of the grizzlygrumpies.

The shriek of the seven tailed chip.

The gentle rustle-rustle of water from inside of the hollow of the tree. But wait, because surely, there should be no way he could hear that?

He opened his mouth to speak, but Wonka's hard clamped down harder on his own. "Listen," he breathed. "Go further."

He listened to the twang of Wonka's voice. He went beyond, inside it, the separate syllables and heard, distantly, the beating of drums. However, it wasn't coming from the village. It was coming from far, far beyond that. In fact, it seemed to be coming from-

The beating boomed louder, till it filled his ears. He gripped hold of Wonka's hand, tightly. It almost sounded like-

**Ooom-****_ pa!_**

**Loom- ****_pa!_**

**Ooom-****_pa!_**

**Loom-****_pa!_**

Charlie gasped. His eyes flew open. "It's-"

Before he realised that they had left the ground, and were standing up high in the loneliness of the canopy.

**To be continued.**

* * *

><p><strong>Notes<strong>; Does anyone else really really want to go to an Oompa-Loompa party after that? I reckon it'd be worth battling off a few whangdoodles.

A few credits, and references.

'Move down, move down!' is of course, from the Disney adaptation of 'Alice in Wonderland.'

The metre of the musical number is supposed to be vaguely reminiscent of Caroll's poem, the Jabberwocky. He and I share a fondness for ridiculous made-up names. The silly names for animals in this story are a combination of Dahl's and my own. My friend Marie was stuck overnight on the streets in London on friday, and later we discussed all the different creatures she could have, but wasn't eaten by. I still think eatyou birds sound absolutely terrifying.

The 'Space Hotel USA' is from the sequel to the original novel by Dahl, called 'Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator.' Charlie, Mr Wonka and his family go into space, and yes, his grandparents really do get out of bed! (Albeit aided by lack of gravity.) You should read it simply because there's a line where Charlie says he loves Mr Wonka. And then we can reinterpret that line for allllllll our nefarious fanfiction ideas. *grins*

The above quote, and both this chapter and twenty-one had their titles taken from 'The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe' by C. S. Lewis, another of the books that heavily influenced my childhood.

I forgot to mention at the time, but the strange tone the story picks up in chapter twenty-one is because I was reading Ben Okri at the time, who infuses his words with this amazing resonating, tribal gravity. I absolutely recommend his 'Starbook.'

"To be born again, first you have to die." - again this was chapter twenty-one and I forgot to mention at the time, but this is from Salman Rushdi's 'The Satanic Verses.'


	29. Chapter 29

_Chapter 29- The Farthest Shore_

Up in the desolation of the canopy, Wonka handed Charlie the fruit.

They sat in the strange half-light that accompanies the moment before dawn, full of the ripe promise of day. And the door between night and day cracked open into a moment that existed outside of itself, where mystery and magic might happen, and anything could slip through. Delicate unfolding flowers brimmed with bright dew; the air hung thick with the song of sap, wax, rotting fruit and azaleas.

Charlie and Wonka sat up high in the trees, where the branches grew as thick as two arms span and Wonka could lean quite comfortably against the trunk, Charlie safely in his arms. He sat sideways in his lap, his head resting against Wonka's chest.

Charlie felt as though inside him was a bowl of still water. Peace enveloped him like a Chinese box. He could hear the calm beating of Wonka's heart. He begun to feel so wonderful, so bright, so illuminated, that he wanted to clasp hold of the feeling, hold it tight to him. The feeling burbled to his lips, and he was struck with the desire to confess something, anything.

"I-" he started.

"Shh," Wonka said gently. Charlie subsided back into him, watching, as Wonka reached with a slow lethargy to pluck, from the laden branches above, an engorged ruby-red snozzberry. And then: Wonka's moonlight pale skin, his veins like tiny dark roots, his delicate ligaments, the half-moons whites of his nails, as he offered the fruit to Charlie. He traced the boy's lips with the ghostliest of touches, easing them open a crack with a finger. Their eyes locked. Charlie accepted the fruit from his hand. It was very dark, very sweet, and the juice dribbled down his chin.

Something very strange, very potent rose up in Charlie, a wave in calm waters.

He kissed the juice and the sticky seeds from Wonka's fingers, and then, sucked them; intoxicating, the snozzberry mixed with Wonka's own mesmerising taste.

The man's eyes were bright, heady, terrified.

Charlie clasped Wonka's hand painfully tight, pulling it around his own waist. He wanted to be closer to him, so close there wasn't an inch between them. Close enough he could shuck off his body and crawl into him- close enough he could _be_ him...

"Mr Wonka," he pleaded, though even he didn't know, wasn't sure what he was pleading for...

Wonka buried his face in Charlie's soft neck in despair. "I don't know... my dear boy, I don't think- I'm not sure-"

"Willy," Charlie said fiercely.

"Oh. Oh!" the little noise was dragged from Wonka in anguish, but there was no more conscious thought after that, only the dizzying, hot, sublime fall.

_To be continued. _


	30. Chapter 30

_Chapter 30- Return from the Farthest Shore_

When the Elevator reached the factory and the doors rolled open, Wonka stopped Charlie.

"Wait," he said, scrutinising him, and whipping out from his breast pocket a hankerchief. "Yer got a bit..."

Charlie touched his face. Snozzberry juice. Deftly Wonka wiped it from under his chin, his face close to his. Charlie glanced up- absurdly, Wonka was blushing. The boy stared hard; he hadn't thought his mentor _could_ blush. Wonka was concentrating hard on the snozzberry stain, his tongue poked out between his teeth in concentration that when his eyes met Charlie's, he turned even pinker. But when he mimed a stage cough and tried to turn away, Charlie caught his hand.

"Willy," he laughed, enjoying the sound of those two unfamiliar syllables on his tongue.

"Please Charlie, not here," Wonka said, somewhat stiffly. It was then Charlie realised the Elevator had taken them straight to the Chocolate Room, the little crooked house sat as serenely in the meadow as they'd left it.

"Oh," he said, and he laughed again; he couldn't seem stop laughing, or smiling today. The bright feeling filled him up like a gas lamp; he wondered that someone might see it, shining out of him.

"Be serious," said Wonka, and Charlie saw the lines of anxiety on his forehead. Really! How human he was becoming recently!

And then, strangely intense. He came close to Charlie, bending to his knees so that they were on the same level. He said, "Charlie, I need your word. That you won't say anything to your mother, or father, or even-"

"Of course I won't."

"If you'd just promise me-"

"Willy!" Charlie said, shocked. For a moment they looked at one another, Wonka's eyes boring into him, before he hesitated, and they dropped in shame and embarrassment. "Yeh. I know yer won't," he mumbled, getting to his feet, dusting himself off.

Charlie opened his mouth to say that Wonka could trust him, that he'd never betray him, but before he could Wonka pivoted on his heel, bright again. "Let's get truckin'. Mr and Mrs B'll be wondering what's keeping ya." With long bounding strides, he headed towards the Bucket house. Charlie had to run to catch up with him.

Charlie hadn't even his hand on the handle, when the front door flew open. He didn't have a chance to say anything either, before there were a pair of arms around him and squeezing the life out of him.

"Oh, Charlie!" Mrs Bucket cried, and then Grandpa Joe was there too, and his father, his hand on Charlie's shoulder. Even Grandpa George stood a little way off, but with tears bright in his eyes. Grandpa Josephine sat up in bed, beaming, and Grandma Georgina exclaimed at the sight of him, "Charlie, I was starting to wonder where you went!"

"Oh Charlie, until Doris told us what had happened we were besides ourselves with worry," Mrs Bucket gabbled.

"Well," said Mr Bucket, with a tense smile thick with emotion, "actually, we were besides ourselves with anger. Afterwards we were besides ourselves with worry.

With all the hugs and kisses and tears Willy Wonka was quite forgotten. This didn't seem to bother him; he put his hands in his pockets and was only remembered when he leant back on his heels and started singing a jaunty tune;

"Doctor Foster went to Gloucester,

In a shower of rain;

He stepped in a puddle,

Right up to his middle,

And never went there again."

It was a strange rendition he sung; it started off lively, but by the final verse he slower it down till he was singing as though to a funeral march. But it made the Buckets finally notice him.

"Why, Mr Wonka!" Grandpa Joe exclaimed, bounding over to pump his hand vigorously. "We're so glad that you're all right!"

"Yes, Willy, we heard you were ill. Are you quite all right now?" Mr Bucket asked with concern. He refrained from attacking the chocolatier though; Wonka was still taking a furious hand shaking from Grandpa Joe.

"Oh, right- as- rain!" he said, as Grandpa Joe tried to wrench his arm off.

When Wonka finally got free of the old man they went inside the house and sat around the table, as Mrs Bucket put the kettle on. Charlie noticed that the Christmas tree still squatted in the corner, and the presents laid untouched. His father followed his gaze.

"Well, it didn't seem like Christmas without you," he explained.

"So we postponed it!" chimed in Grandpa George.

Charlie glanced at the presents, and then at his mother cheekily. "So, can we open them now?"

"Oh, go on then!" said Mrs Bucket, half way through pouring the tea.

There was a scramble for the presents, and mad unwrapping, mostly by Charlie and Grandpa Joe, while Mr Bucket and Grandpa George sat at table with Wonka and tried to ply him about what happened in Loompa Land. Wonka replied with his usual dramatic relish ("Seven foot high!" "An inch away from death!" "-And it was so terrified of me it legged it!") but while he did so, out of the corner of his eye, he looked at Charlie. The boy was tearing through the paper delightedly.

_Like a child, _Wonka thought, and for a for a moment was distracted from his story, looking as though someone had struck him.

Charlie, knelt on the floor, twisted round to him, rattling a box by his ear. "This one says it's from you Mr Wonka," he said.

Wonka snapped back to reality. "Ah, yes," he said. "Well, don't dilly or dally. Go on," and he gestured that Charlie should open it.

Unlike the rest, which he torn through in haste, Charlie opened Wonka's present very carefully, with a great deal of tenderness and ceremony, so that by the time he'd taken off the rest of the paper every eye was on him.

Inside the box was a raspberry kite. Wonka coughed.

"It woz your first invention idea, remember? We never ended up making 'em. I figured we could go fly it sometime." But again, he spoke rather stiffly and formally. He'd hardly finished however when Charlie threw his arms around him.

"It's brilliant!" he said. Wonka went as stiff as a board.

"-Absolutely marvellous," Grandpa Joe was exclaiming. "Why, I haven't flown a kite since..."

Charlie's mouth, close to his ear. "Willy? Mr Wonka? What's wrong?"

As Charlie pulled close to him, Wonka pulled away.

To Grandpa Joe; "Why, y'know that's a great idea! We outta go on a lil family outing in the High Pressure Winds room-"

Charlie, standing with his hands limply by his side, looked disconsolate.

Wonka, glancing at Mrs Bucket by the counter, noticed she was watching her son rather carefully. Immediately, he launched into his fifth account of Charlie's battle with the snozzwhanger. During a particular loud hand gesture, Grandpa Joe, who'd rejoined them at the table piped up, "Why Mr Wonka, you're missing your gloves!" And then, rather obliviously, "Those are some nasty scars! How did you do those?"

Wonka folded his hands self-consciously on the table, but it was too late; the other Buckets had seen, nor were they as innocent as Grandpa Joe. In the long, awkward silence that followed, he seemed to have realised he'd made some kind of social faux pas, because he coughed and said, "Sorry. Must have been those beans ."

Wonka sat still, hands folded, looking at a crack in the table. Charlie stood behind him, stricken.

At last Wonka said, with a heaviness the Buckets did not often hear from him, "Well, that's nothing to worry about. It was a long time ago."

And then, it was as though he was a slide projector, and someone had inserted the next slide. He rubbed his hands together, a smile stretched across his face. He said, "So, where are my presents?"

There was much to tell about what had happened, a lot the Buckets wanted to hear. Wonka didn't leave until the evening. And though Charlie was happy to see his family again, he kept feeling strange. Although he knew it was only an act, Wonka's cold behaviour hurt- especially after what had happened between them... and thinking that t_hat_, here, amongst his family felt even stranger.

He begun to start having strange thoughts. That in the factory there had always been two worlds; Wonka's world, and his family's. Because, it occurred to him that they had never fit in with Wonka's world. Just their house was proof of that, and likewise the way Wonka had befriended the Buckets, whilst still keeping them at arms length. Only Charlie could move between these two worlds, and yet he felt now that he had moved more thoroughly onto Wonka's side.

He could be wrong, of course- maybe it was just that he'd spent so long in Loompa Land- but he felt a little out of place here, now.

For example as dinner was served his attention started to drift away again to the intimacies of last night. Mr Wonka had been so gentle... he'd seen the side of him he'd only seen in the dream, in the young Willy; so tender, vulnerable, almost innocent. And so-_ human_. Once, Charlie would have thought that discovering his marvellous mentor was like him, only flesh and blood, would have spoiled it. But somehow, it only made him more marvellous; that he was wonderful and magical and _real_.

And it felt... it felt...

A hand, suddenly waving in front of his face. He jumped out of his skin.

"He's away with the fairies!" Grandpa George laughed.

Charlie flushed, and reached for the peas.

And he thought, with a colouring shame, _If only they could see the inside of my head!_

* * *

><p>Everyone had gone to bed, but Charlie couldn't sleep. Laid back in his bed, he was restless, tracing patterns in the fake stars out of the window, marking out his own constellations.<p>

A keening _cree-ak_.

Charlie sat up. It was his ladder.

"Hello?" he called softly.

Mrs Bucket's head emerged from the top of the creaky ladder. "Just me, Charlie," she said, keeping her voice low. About to step up onto the landing, she hesitated. "Can I come in?" she asked.

"Of course," he said, a little bewildered. He swung his legs off the side of his bed. His mother climbed up, and smiled around the room. A little absently, it seemed to him, she ran her hands over the cork board, touching some of the old pictures he'd tacked up eons ago, now curling in the corners. Her hand moved over to the old Wonka bar wrappers. Her smile deepened.

"I can't believe you still keep these now," she chuckled. She looked over her shoulder at him.

"Well..." he said.

"And these," she moved over to the pictures he'd drawn of the factory; Willy Wonka and the factory; him and Willy Wonka. She grinned at him. "Have you ever shown Willy these?"

He blushed. "He's never been up here."

"Ah," she said. She turned and smiled at him, hands behind her back. Charlie smiled back, puzzled.

"Is it alright if I sit with you?" she asked.

"Sure."

He felt the bed sink as she sat down next to him. A beat.

"We need to get you a new bed Charlie."

Beat.

"Why didn't you say the springs had gone?"

"I dunno... I just got so busy working with Mr Wonka... I guess I didn't think about it."

Silence. Darkness. Grandpa George's long drawn out snore.

"Do you not feel as though you can tell us things that bother you, Charlie?"

Charlie's head snapped round. "Pardon?" he said.

"If there's something that's upsetting you, or even if there's just something you want to talk about, you know you can come to us, don't you? To me or your father, or your grandparents. You know your Grandma Josephine is a good listener- I wouldn't always recommend your Grandpa George, but- well, what I'm trying to say is that you would come to us, wouldn't you?"

Guardedly, Charlie nodded. He started to fidget now, picking at a ragged fingernail.

"Because I don't want you to think there's something you can't tell us- even if you think it's embarrassing."

Softly Charlie said, "I know Mum."

She carried on, her voice gaining momentum; "Because, well- I can't help but feel like for the last few weeks you've been getting distant from us."

He looked up sharply. "That's..."

"And you know there's nothing you could tell me that would stop me loving you, don't you?"

Charlie's chest tightened. At that same moment, Grandpa George's snore hitched, and rumbled out like a low growl.

Mrs Bucket said, "Would you come outside with me for a moment Charlie?"

She stood, and the bed keened and levelled out again. His heart starting to beat faster, Charlie could do nothing but nod.

Down the ladder and quietly past his grandparents, he was thinking furiously. When Mrs Bucket pulled the door closed behind them and they stepped out into the swuldge, turned white in the false moonlight, he burst out; "I'm sorry. I know I haven't spent much time with your or Dad recently. It's just that me and Mr Wonka have been so busy, what with the launch of the bubbletastic balls, and the trip to Loompa Land, and-"

Mrs Bucket's look was as frank as the moonlight. She said, "Charlie, I _know_."

He thought to keep his hands steady. She couldn't mean- there was no way she could know-

"Know what?" he hedged.

Mrs Bucket seemed to hesitate, and then from out of her apron pocket, she drew out an old crumpled scrap of paper. "I don't want you to be embarrassed, but I found this in your room."

Charlie took the note from her. He unfolded it. His heart gave a sudden, dry lurch. His guilt laid there, given in handwriting.

_-Please help me tell him how I feel, and please, please don't let him hate me-_

"It's not- it isn't-" he stuttered. How could he have left something like this around? How could he have been so stupid?

Mrs Bucket took a step towards him. "Charlie, it's alright," she said.

Instinctively, he flinched away. "No, you've got it wrong! I'm not- we're not-"

It took everything in him, when she clasped hold of his hands, not to shove her away.

She spoke hurriedly, in a breathless whisper; "You've nothing to be ashamed about. See- I knew I was right to talk to you about this. You've been letting it cut you up, haven't you?"

Charlie couldn't say anything. His throat felt bone dry. "I-" he choked.

She pulled him into a fierce embrace. "Charlie, I'm telling you; it's _alright_."

When, pressed into his mother's arms, one clear thought cut through the chaos; _Hold on a minute. This isn't how I expected this to go._

He said, "You... you're not angry?"

"Of course not." She embraced him tighter, and at last, he gave himself into the embrace. Her hand, stroking the hair at the nape of his neck. "Listen Charlie; there's nothing wrong with it. I know there are a lot of people in this world still with old-fashioned views, but you don't have to listen to them. It's natural. If that's the way you are, that's all there is to it."

Charlie thought, _Huh?_

"I know you've had a tough time of it at school, but I promise it'll be easier as you get older. And don't worry; I'll talk to your father. And then, hey-" she drew back, a bright smile on her face, "I tell you what- why don't we invite him over for dinner?"

_But Mr Wonka comes over for dinner half the time anyway..._

Something struck him.

"Hold on," he said, "who?"

Mrs Bucket gave him her best don't-you-be-coy-with-me-young-man face and said, "Why, Rowan, of course!"

_To be continued._


End file.
